


White Magic

by dreamsofspike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 06:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 79
Words: 210,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9535280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: Spike is involved in a very bad abusive relationship with Buffy. Tara finds out. Then Dawn finds out. Then everyone finds out. But that's not even close to all it takes to free Spike from Buffy's control.Warnings: This is incredibly dark and disturbing with lots of non-con and torture and awfulness.





	1. Chapter 1

He really couldn’t put his finger on exactly when things had changed so drastically and painfully between them.

 

Perhaps they never had.

 

Perhaps things had always been this way – he had simply been too blinded by his own love to allow himself to see her hatred.

 

Because by now, he knew – she had to hate him.

 

There was no way that she could do the things she did to him, hurt him so viciously and deliberately, unless she hated him completely.

 

He did not know how his existence had reached this point – how it had become reduced to this state of constant misery and fear and torment. Back when it had started, he would never have imagined that it would eventually come to this – and it had happened so gradually that he had not seen it coming, had not realized it as it had happened.

 

But he *did* know where it had started.

 

It had started with a simple game…

 

*********************************

 

He had been feeling particularly hopeful that night.

 

Physically, their bodies had come together with the same intensity of perfection in pleasure that they always seemed to have. Somehow, without words, each just *knew* how, where, to touch the other, in order to bring them slowly – or swiftly, depending on her mood – to the brink of ecstasy…and to send them sliding easily – or careening madly – over the edge and back down to a sated ease, when they were through.

 

And that night had been no exception.

 

She had surprised him with the casual conversation she had initiated afterwards – complimenting him on his home, commenting on her own – and for a few brief moments, he had felt a spark of hope rising up in him, wondering if perhaps this was the first step toward something more – something better, deeper, than what they already shared.

 

He had asked her if she trusted him – and she had broken his heart for the millionth time when she had told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t, and never would.

 

And then – she had turned the tables on him.

 

She had asked him if *he* trusted *her* – and an instinctive thrill of fear had shot down his spine at the suggestion behind her question.

 

He knew better – he really did.

 

She was the Slayer – and she had made it perfectly clear just how little he meant to her, how easily she could kill him if he gave her a single shred of a reason.

 

To trust her was nothing short of madness.

 

But the hurt in her eyes when he hesitated had driven him to make what he now, in hindsight, thought was possibly the worst mistake of his entire existence. It didn’t matter to him that she had just blatantly stated that *she* could never trust *him* – or that she had no qualms about hurting him under ordinary circumstances, let alone in the midst of a kinky sex game – he had seen the injured expression on her face, and had immediately replied with soft devotion, determined to soothe the hurt he had caused with his all-too-revealing eyes.

 

*Yes…*

 

A simple response that he had come to regret.

 

Now, he wondered if that hurt he had seen in her shining emerald gaze, the hurt that had driven him to such recklessness, had been anything more than a cunning deception.

 

She had been a goddess that night.

 

Cruel and breathtakingly beautiful, she had passed on the handcuffs he had offered in favor of the stronger iron shackles that he had once placed her in, during one of his ill-fated and misguided attempts to prove his love to her. He knew that she had chosen them because she knew they were strong enough to hold a Slayer – and therefore certainly strong enough to hold a vampire.

 

Buffy had been playing for keeps.

 

She had chained him to his own bed – placing him utterly at her mercy – and had then proceeded to inflict on his willing, responsive body the sweetest torment of pleasure and pain that he had every experienced.

 

He had no idea where she had learned the things she had done to him – or if perhaps there was some instinct innate in all Slayers.

 

If so, he thought, he had missed the bloody boat in killing the last two.

 

*What a bloody waste!*

 

But right here, and right now, there was nothing and no one that he wanted but his glorious, gorgeous Slayer, as she teased his body to the very peak of oblivion, expertly combining pleasure and pain – and then taking advantage of the power she held over him, holding out on him until he was babbling desperately, begging for her touch and straining against the bonds that held him to the bed – and at her mercy.

 

Finally, she had relented, riding his body to her own release – and drawing him over the edge with her, leaving them both sweat-soaked and shattered and panting, limp limbs entangled in the bedclothes as they gradually recovered from the most intense encounter they had ever had.

 

After that night – neither of them could get enough.

 

The chains became a usual part of the games they played, as the Slayer became ever more inventive – and ever less mindful of Spike’s needs and desires as they played.

 

It was obvious from the start that she reveled in the power she held over him, as she mercilessly toyed with his body, withholding the satisfaction that she knew he craved from her, until the last possible second – until it suited her to allow it. She loved to hear him beg her to touch him, to take him inside her – to ease the pent-up passion that she would slowly, torturously build up inside him with her light, teasing touches.

 

She loved the fact that she could do whatever she wanted to him, and there was nothing he could do to stop her.

 

Not that he would have wanted to stop her – at first, anyway.

 

Spike had never known the sweet intensity of having her focus all of her attentions on *him*, and *his* body, during their encounters. It had always been all about her – her pain, her desires…and whether or not he could satiate her thoroughly enough to prevent her striking out in violence and cruel words when she was through with him.

 

There had been times when she had left him wanting, aching with need for her, once her own satisfaction had been achieved.

 

Now – she relished the ability she had to play his body like a finely tuned instrument, as he moaned and gasped and writhed under her hand…a slave to the pleasure of her expert touch.

 

The Slayer had discovered a new way to enjoy her power.

 

And Spike had enjoyed it too – for a while.

 

Until the game had become…darker…frightening.

 

He remembered well the first time she had hurt him, more than he wanted to be hurt. His body had arched up into her touch, as one hand had pinched his nipple hard, sending little electric spasms of pleasure-pain all through his body, and the other had traveled slowly, intently, down the length of his torso – hard, carefully manicured fingernails scoring his flawless skin and leaving thin trails of blood in their wake.

 

He had hissed and writhed and tried in vain to twist away from her touch – but he had not really wanted her to stop.

 

And then…she had brought those deadly sharp nails lower than she had before, halting just at the base of his weeping erection, and eliciting a sharp cry of pain from his lips as she dug in slightly, leaving deep indentations in his sensitive flesh, though she had not broken the skin.

 

He had begged her to stop – tried in earnest to pull away – and she had ignored him, smiling maliciously into his eyes as she had very slowly, very deliberately, trailed though sharp, vicious nails down the length of his most vital, vulnerable part. He had moaned in pain – and she had raised a hand to stifle the scream that rose in his throat, as she had only intensified the savage pressure she was inflicting.

 

Yes, he remembered that moment clearly – the first moment in which he had said “no”…asked her to stop…and she had *not* stopped.

 

As much as he did not want what she was doing to him, he *was* a vampire through and through – and the combination of the intense pain and the pressure on his swollen, needy member had brought about his completion – as his seed had spilt on the bed, mingling with the rivers of blood from the scoring of her nails on his skin.

 

He had sensed something different in her that night – something cold and dangerous and deadly – and had wisely said nothing, as she had raised herself up on hands and knees, crawling up his body until her own swollen, sodden center hovered over his mouth.

 

And he had obeyed her silent command – bringing about her own release, even as his own sex throbbed with the agony of the abuse she had inflicted on it.

 

He had still said nothing as she had lain beside him, gasping for breath and slowly recovering from the encounter. And then, as she had risen from the bed and unchained him, he had still kept his silence – until he was free of the bonds, and she was on her way out the door.

 

“Buffy,” he had stopped her, his voice soft and carefully even, though he had had to struggle to control its trembling.

 

She had turned slightly, a questioning, cold expression on her face.

 

He had held her gaze, with an extreme force of will, though he wanted to look away, as he had stated softly, firmly, “You will *never* touch me again.”

 

The Slayer had studied his expression seriously for a moment – before her face broke into a mocking smile of affectionate amusement. “Oh, Spike,” she murmured, shaking her head slowly. “Of course I will.”

 

He had promised himself that night that she would not.

 

And the next time she had shown up at his door – he had let her in.

 

And that moment of his surrender to her, Spike remembered – had been the beginning of the end of his freedom.


	2. Chapter 2

She promised him that it would never happen again – that from that point on, she would accept his “no” as final when he gave it – that she would not again abuse the trust he placed in her, every time he lay down for her and allowed her to bind him to the bed.

 

And she didn’t – for a while.

 

Her ultimate power and his desperation and helplessness that night seemed to have opened something up inside the Slayer – something dark and primal and sinister – and now, although she mostly held to the promise she had made, she continuously played around the edges of it.

 

She would hesitate, when he voiced his objection to something she was doing, or wanted to do – waiting just long enough, meeting his gaze with that predatory, challenging gleam in her eyes, to make him wonder whether or not she was going to keep her promise. Then, just when he was firmly, despairingly convinced that she was going to have her own way, regardless of what he wanted – she would relent.

 

“You know I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, Baby,” she would purr in a soft, consoling voice that was not the least bit reassuring – not when he was still chained to the bed, and utterly at her mercy.

 

She usually seemed satisfied just to have made her point – that she *could* do to him whatever she chose to do.

 

And in those moments when she slammed her way into his crypt – in a smaller, subtler way, yet again demonstrating her power – Spike began to feel an odd unsettled, apprehensive feeling, combining deep in his stomach with the arousal that he always felt at her arrival – until he wasn’t sure whether he wanted more: for her to stay, or to go.

 

One night about three weeks after the violation she had committed, and her promise never to do it again – Spike once again saw that dark, predatory glow in her eyes as she threw open his door and stalked across the room to him, gripping his wrists in her hands and shoving him back against the wall beside his refrigerator, as the bag of blood he had been taking from it fell to the floor with a wet, breaking splash.

 

Her lips fell on his, hungrily, as if she would devour him completely – and Spike was not completely sure that she had not devoured him already.

 

As usual, she guided their actions, leading him to the bed and pushing him down on it under her – but when she reached for the chains, now permanently attached to his bedposts…something in Spike broke with a feeling of panic, as if some part of him recognized the danger that lay in giving her so much control tonight.

 

Tonight – something was different.

 

“Wait,” he whispered, pushing up against her, and though she did not release her restraining grip on his wrist, the hand reaching for the chain froze, as she looked down at him with an impatient question in her expectant eyes.

 

A nervous, uncertain smile on his lips, Spike continued softly, “Why don’t we -- *not* use those tonight, love? I mean – why don’t you just – let me make love to you, Buffy? No toys – no games…just…me and you…” There was an earnestness, a longing in his voice that surprised even him, as he voiced honestly what he wanted from her – what he had *always* wanted from her.

 

The Slayer studied his expression for a long moment in amused surprise, before she laughed softly. “Now where’s the fun in that, Baby?” she murmured against his throat, her teeth closing lightly over the marks of his turning, causing his body to arch under her, as his erection leapt against her stomach. She giggled low in her throat as she reached up for the chains again.

 

The sense of warning bordering on panic grew stronger, dampening Spike’s desire, as he tried to pull his wrist away from her, protesting more insistently, “*No*!”

 

The Slayer looked at him with a wide-eyed expression of innocent surprise – though she smiled slightly with amusement as his position on his back, and lack of leverage, made his struggles ineffectual.

 

“No, Buffy,” he repeated, softer, going still and holding her gaze, willing her to see how much he meant what he was saying. “Not tonight. I don’t want that,” he stated firmly.

 

The amusement left her eyes, and the slight hint of derisive disgust he saw in them made him look away.

 

“Okay.”

 

He looked back up again, surprised by the light acceptance in her voice – and was surprised to see that she was smiling.

 

“Okay?” he echoed uncertainly.

 

“Okay,” she affirmed, nodding before leaning down to kiss his lips, slowly, thoroughly. As she pulled back, she leaned in to whisper against his ear, “We won’t do anything you don’t want to do, Baby. All you have to do is tell me if you want me to stop – you know that…”

 

There was a steadily growing part of him that really did *not* know that.

 

And it was about to be proven right.

 

Buffy’s hand left the shackle she had been reaching for, instead trailing down his abdomen, between their bodies, to close firmly around his aching member. Soon, she had him so lost in the sensations she was creating in him, that he did not even notice when her hand left his wrist – did not notice as she raised up slightly over him…

 

Didn’t notice anything, in fact – until he felt the shackle on the left bedpost closing around his right wrist.

 

His eyes flew open wide, as he looked up at her in shocked disbelief.

 

“Buffy…”

 

“Shhh,” she whispered with a teasing smirk, placing her finger against his lips as she leaned over the side of the bed, reaching for something underneath it.

 

He pulled away from her hand at his mouth, intent on being heard. “No, Buffy, listen to me! I told you…”

 

His words were suddenly cut off as she shoved something into his mouth, holding it there firmly even as he struggled to pull away from it. The Slayer’s expression lost its amusement, becoming darkly intent and determined, as she placed one of her knees on his free arm, rendering it useless, while her other knee rested on his chest, and her hands were busy strapping the offending item – a ball gag, he recognized now, and when exactly had she managed to get it under his bed? – on tightly, fastening it behind his head.

 

Even as he tossed his head wildly in an attempt to dislodge it, and writhed against the bonds that already held him, Buffy took his flailing arm in both of her hands, and fastened it to the other bedpost with the other shackle.

 

“Now, Baby,” she murmured in a falsely soothing voice, as she lowered herself back down the bed to meet his wide, panicked eyes. “Don’t worry so much. You can trust me…”

 

Something in her eyes, combined with the way she had so callously, utterly disregarded his wishes, made Spike’s heart sink inside him with fear of what she might have planned for this evening.

 

Buffy’s smirk returned as she leaned down to whisper in his ear, “…if you want me to stop…all you have to do, is…” Her fingertips lightly traced the smooth, flat outside of the gag, as she finished in a soft breath of veiled menace, “…tell me.”

 

She slowly raised up over him, her knees now straddling his chest, as she smirked down at him for a moment, before getting up completely.

 

Although he knew by now that she was not going to let him up – not until she had gained whatever satisfaction she was seeking from this frightening encounter – Spike still struggled to voice his protest around the thick, round object in his mouth.

 

She ignored him as she knelt beside the bed, taking out, to his surprise, a small, black briefcase which he had never seen before. As she laid it down on the bed beside his waist, she looked up at him with a secretive smile.

 

“You didn’t even know this was here, did you?” she teased him, giving him a sly wink as she opened the case.

 

He watched in rising apprehension as she dug around in the case for a few moments, out of his view, before looking up to meet his eyes with a cold smile of amusement – and his heart sank at the sound of her suggestive words.

 

“You were saying something about – toys?”

 

***********************************

 

“Spike? *Spike*!”

 

The obviously very distracted blond vampire shook his head, shaking himself out of his grim thoughts, and looked over at where the Watcher sat at the table, across from where he was standing in the doorway – a bit awkwardly, and a lot uncomfortably.

 

He wasn’t sure if there was a single part of his body that was not sore today.

 

“What?” he asked with none of his usual snark, still sounding very distracted. “Sorry, Watcher – wasn’t listenin’.”

 

“Big surprise there,” Xander remarked under his breath, rolling his eyes. “Why is he even here, anyway?”

 

It wasn’t any more than he was used to hearing from the boy, or the rest of the Scoobies for that matter – but at the moment, it was too much.

 

It wasn’t as if he *wanted* to be there!

 

He wanted to be at home, in his crypt, sleeping the day away and allowing his body to heal from the abuse it had taken the night before – allowing his wounded dignity to come to terms with what had happened – but Buffy had told him to be at this meeting today, because Giles had some questions about the local demonic activity of late.

 

So here he was.

 

The confusion and depression that Spike had been experiencing ever since Buffy had left his crypt the night before suddenly turned to angry irritation, at the boy’s derisive remarks, and he stood up straighter in the doorway – barely concealing a wince at the movement – and took a step toward Xander.

 

“Got something to say, Whelp, you’d best say it out loud – so I *know* why I’m kicking your arse!” he growled.

 

Xander’s eyebrows rose in a challenge, and he laughed, though the sound was admittedly a bit high and nervous. “Please! As long as you’ve got that chip in your head, you can’t touch me!”

 

“Maybe not,” Spike shrugged, his eyes flecked with gold as he stalked closer to the table, and Xander in particular. His game face roared forward as he braced his hands on the table and leaned in until his fangs were inches from the boy’s face. A mocking smirk came over his face as he sneered, “But I *can* make you piss yourself – and that’s right bloody satisfying, too.”

 

Xander leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes wide with fright, forgetting momentarily his own words seconds earlier about the chip – as the precise reaction that Spike had predicted overcame him.

 

Spike hardly had time to enjoy his small victory, before a small but powerful hand locked onto his arm and flung him back away from the table, into the wall next to the door – and he bit back a cry of pain as he felt several wounds on his back re-open at the impact.

 

Buffy had just come in from the training room – and she was clearly *not* pleased with what she had walked in on.

 

“Let’s get one thing straight, Spikey,” she sneered, her voice soft, but still audible to the others, an angry light in her eyes of jade as they locked onto his, refusing to let him look away. “You are here *only* because Giles needs information that he thinks you might have…”

 

“Right, then, got it, Slayer, just back off,” he muttered, trying to push past her, and escape the oppressive nearness – which was at the moment bringing back far too many vivid images from the night before.

 

“I’m not *finished*!”

 

Buffy seized his arm and slammed him back again, her eyes narrowing in anger as she tightened her grip and leaned in closer to him. Spike struggled not to cry out, wondering if she had deliberately placed her hand on exactly the spot where she had given him a searing holy water burn the night before.

 

He was fairly certain that it *was* deliberate.

 

A cold, tight smile crossed her face at his barely perceptible wince of pain, as she twisted her hand just slightly on the burn, and went on, “You are not our friend, Spike. You are only alive because you are harmless.” Her words were slow, calm, and clear, as if she was addressing a misbehaving two-year-old. “Now, I wouldn’t try too hard to convince people that you’re *not* harmless – because that just might change my mind about letting you live. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

 

There was a cold, secret triumph in her eyes – a vicious pleasure in his fear and discomfort that was a violation in and of itself – and Spike found that he had to look away.

 

The disgust and hatred in her voice, which he was never fully convinced was just a show for her friends, now sounded more genuine than ever – and hurt twice as badly. The shame and hurt and loneliness of being the Slayer’s “dirty little secret” was now combined with the fear and uncertainty of the second violation she had committed against his body, his heart – his *trust*.

 

It was heartbreaking, knowing that as much as he loved her, the next time she came to him, he would have to turn her away.

 

And it was frightening – knowing that he probably would not.

 

“Yes,” he relented grudgingly, his voice low to disguise a slight tremor that rose up in it against his will. As she released his arm, he jerked away from her in revulsion, adding under his breath, “Just don’t bloody touch me!”

 

As he went to move past her, Buffy suddenly moved in closer to him, blocking his escape. A lethally strong hand came to rest at his hip, pushing him forcefully back against the wall, and he felt a sharp shock of pain shoot up his spine at the impact to his tailbone – not to mention his bruised and battered rear end.

 

The Slayer did not say another word – just stood there staring at him – her expression deadly serious for her friends’ benefit…but with just the barest hint of a smirk at the corners, and her eyes were dancing with wicked mirth.

 

The unspoken words were perfectly clear to Spike.

 

*I’ll touch you whenever I want to!*

 

He could not hold her gaze for long, and when he looked away, she finally released him, sauntering smugly away from him and sitting down at the table beside her Watcher.

 

“Can you just go ahead and ask him your questions already? I’m sick of putting up with him,” she said with flippant dismissal.

 

Spike felt his face flush with shame – and suddenly, he wanted to be anywhere in the world but here.

 

He knew that he was unusually subdued and quiet as he quickly did his best to tell the Watcher what he wanted to know, easily identifying the strange demon the Watcher had seen the night before as one he had fought, but not killed, a few nights prior. He filled Giles in quickly on what it was called, and what he knew of its habits, strengths and weaknesses, before making the fastest exit he could manage.

 

He pushed the door open, practically stumbling out into the street in his desperate haste to get away, fiercely rubbing at the stubborn tears that blinded him…

 

…completely unaware of the troubled expression on the face of the blonde witch inside, as she watched him leave with a concern that she could not quite dare to show.

 

Yet.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Spike did when he returned to his crypt was to take a long, hot shower.

 

He had taken one the night before, almost as soon as Buffy had left – trying to wash away the blood and come and shame that covered him in the wake of her assault – but he had been too exhausted and weakened and injured to stay under the water long, and had finally just made his way upstairs and collapsed on the old sofa he had recently acquired.

 

There was no way he was sleeping in that bed – not that night.

 

First thing the next morning, he had removed the bloodied, filthy bedclothes from the bed, taken them out into the woods, and burned them. He had told himself that he was putting the dark, troubling incident behind him, as he had made the bed again with fresh, clean sheets and a comforter he had bought that evening.

 

*It’s over,* he told himself firmly. *No use thinking about it…*

 

But deep down, he knew that it was far from over – it was only beginning.

 

After the encounter he had just had with Buffy at the Magic Box, he found himself feeling unsettled and restless again, and suddenly all he wanted was to feel the hot, relaxing pressure of the clean, clear water against his skin – to wash away the fear and uncertainty from his heart, and the sick, queasy feeling from the pit of his stomach.

 

But he realized with a sinking heart, as the water washed over him, that it was going to take more than a hot shower to rid himself of the painful feelings the Slayer had left him with the night before – and a lot more than a simple decision not to think about it, to keep the disturbing memories from his mind.

 

Still, he stayed under the hot, soothing spray for as long as it was hot, his head resting against the cool stone wall, his eyes closed as he tried his best to just *not* think about it – to shut out any and all thoughts of Buffy, and what she had done to him.

 

*And since when do you try *not* to think about her, mate?* he asked himself with a sense of bitter irony, his eyes shut tightly against the suspicious prickling sensation behind his eyelids, before he finally turned off the water and got out, his eyes downcast, not bothering with a towel before stepping out into his bedroom, as he was alone in the crypt.

 

At least – he thought he was.

 

“Hey, Baby.”

 

Spike jumped, his eyes shooting up to hers, wide and startled – and he backed up a few steps toward the little alcove that served as his bathroom, reaching around to the stone slab “counter” to pick up a dark red towel that he had left there. In a momentary panic, he considered just locking himself into the bathroom and waiting for her to go away.

 

But if she really wanted to get to him – he knew that his makeshift lock would not keep her out.

 

“Buffy,” he replied, despising the slight tremor in his voice as he tried to keep it calm. “W-wasn’t expecting you tonight, love…what with the – the big evil and all…you kill it already?”

 

He felt his heart lurch up into his throat as she made her way casually, but all too quickly, across the room toward him, taking the towel from his slightly shaking hands and tossing it to the floor.

 

“Oh, come on, Spike,” she said in a teasingly affectionate voice, meeting his eyes with what appeared to be genuine warmth and amusement. “Like I haven’t seen it all before!”

 

*That would be the problem,* he thought darkly, but dared not voice it to her.

 

“I just – I mean – I was just going to…”

 

Spike lost his train of thought completely, feeling a tight, sick, claustrophobic sensation come over him as she moved in close to put her hands on his waist gently. He wanted to pull away from her, wanted to tell her not to touch him – but something stopped him. Maybe it was his fear of her reaction, if he should deny her what she wanted – whatever that might happen to be tonight.

 

Or maybe – it was the fact that a part of him still could not bring himself to push her away, when he had yearned for her touch for so long.

 

“Shhh,” she soothed him softly, a look of concerned surprise in her eyes as she looked him up and down, taking in the slight shaking of his body, and the nervous way that he avoided her eyes. “Hey…what’s the matter, Spike?”

 

Her voice was full of a soft sympathy that he had not expected – and he found himself feeling suddenly very confused and uncertain – wanting to escape her, and yet wanting to allow himself to fall into the warmth and compassion that she seemed to be offering, as she ran her hands lightly, comfortingly, up and down his sides, before lifting one to his face and tilting his head up slightly to make him look at her.

 

“What is it?” she asked him again.

 

He stared at her, shaking his head slightly in bewilderment.

 

“Buffy – how can you even ask me that?” he whispered, feeling the ache in his heart intensifying at the idea that she really did not know what was wrong. “After – how could you…?”

 

He lowered his eyes again, shaking his head as he found that he could not bring himself to finish the words.

 

Buffy frowned, her expression all innocence. “What? Tonight?” she guessed, before shaking her own head with a gently dismissive smile, “Spike, you know I can’t let on to them what’s going on between us – they’d never understand. You know that – and sometimes…that might mean my being not so nice to you in public…but you know it doesn’t mean anything…”

 

Feeling anger and frustration rising up inside him, Spike looked up at her in shock. “Do you *really* think – that *that’s* what this is…” He shook his head, as he suddenly jerked away from her hands, trying to move past her into the bedroom, out of this tiny alcove where he felt so trapped, cornered, by the intensity of her presence. “Don’t touch me!” he muttered.

 

But she did not really allow him to get past, pushing in against him so that his back was to the bedroom wall, her hands returning with an insistent firmness as they came to rest on his bare hips. Her voice was soft, patient, as she tried to stop his retreat, even as he struggled weakly to get away from her, his efforts weakened by his injuries of the night before, and by the shattered state of his heart at the moment.

 

“Spike…wait a second…”

 

“Don’t *touch* me, Buffy, I said…”

 

“Spike, stop it!”

 

“Let me go!” His voice was filled with anguished frustration, and bordering on releasing the tears that had been rising up in him for more than a day now, as he fought to push past her.

 

“Not until I’m ready!” she snarled at him, her voice suddenly hardening in her own frustration, as she caught his arms and shoved him back hard against the wall – and he froze at the threat in her voice, wincing at the pain that shot through his back, bruised and torn by the beating she had taken such pleasure in dealing to him the night before.

 

After a brief moment of silence in which the Slayer seemed to recover her composure, she took a deep breath, looking down at the floor for a moment, before releasing a soft sigh of regret.

 

“I’m sorry,” she told him, her voice gentler now. “I’m sorry, Spike…did I hurt you?”

 

He knew she was talking about right then, in that moment – as apparently, the events of the night before did not even factor into the equation for her – and although the slight pain she had just inflicted on him was nothing in comparison with the violation of the night before, all he could do was nod silently, his eyes lowered in shame and confusion and pain.

 

*Yes, Buffy – you’ve hurt me – don’t know if it can ever be fixed, either…*

 

“I’m sorry,” she repeated softly, her grip on his arms easing as well, as she ran her hands up and down them in a soothing gesture. “It’s just – you can be so frustrating, do you know that?”

 

The teasing laugh in her voice did nothing to ease the tension for Spike, who still could not bring himself to look at her.

 

“I’m sorry,” he quietly replied, almost automatically.

 

“Hey, it’s okay, Sweetie,” she reassured him, raising a hand to tenderly caress down his cheek – frowning when he flinched at the touch.

 

She was silent for a long moment, her expression sobering, before she surmised quietly, “But – this isn’t about that – is it? It’s not even about – tonight…”

 

Spike did not respond, though he did raise his wide, uncertain blue eyes to meet hers at last in a hesitant question.

 

Was she actually going to acknowledge…?

 

“Honestly, Spike, if I’d have known you were going to freak out over it…” She shook her head, and Spike felt a sense of shame come over him at the slight note of derision in her voice. She looked back up at him, a slightly patronizing sound to her voice as she continued, “…it was just a game. I thought you knew that.”

 

He stared at her for a long moment, wondering how she could possibly not understand.

 

Finally, he whispered in a low, intent tone, “I said no, Buffy. I said *no*, I didn’t want to bloody play! And you…”

 

Suddenly, she released him completely, turning her back on him with a disgusted sort of hiss through her teeth. “You know, I had no idea what a little wuss you really were, Spike.”

 

She turned sideways, looking his naked form up and down with a careless intimacy that, combined with the derision in her expression, made him feel small and stupid and ashamed. He wished that she would just stop looking at him, or at least that she had let him get his towel – but when she looked away with a short, bitter sort of laugh, it didn’t make him feel any better.

 

“I mean – if anybody can understand the kinds of things I need – I thought it would be you,” Buffy continued, her voice softening now, and taking on a note of vulnerability that Spike always found it next to impossible to deny. “You know how hard it’s been for me – you know how – how different I’ve been, since – since I came back…what happened to my belonging in the darkness with you, Spike? Did you just say that so that you could get into my pants in public? I thought that – that you were the one I could depend on, Spike – the only one who wouldn’t judge me or condemn me, no matter what…”

 

“I’m not…I’m not judging you,” he argued quietly, his words slow and halting, as he tried to make sense of the turn the conversation had just taken. “Buffy, it’s just that you told me you wouldn’t…” His voice faltered, and he lowered his head, raising one hand to cover his eyes as he found, to his utter humiliation, that he could no longer keep back all of his tears.

 

*How can she do what she did to me, and still make *me* feel like the one who’s bloody guilty?* he wondered desperately.

 

He jumped again, flinching back against the wall, when he felt her warm hands on his cool skin again – still gentle, and reassuring, nowhere near as intrusive as they had been the night before – as she softly slid her arms around him, one hand at the back of his neck encouraging him to rest his head on her shoulder.

 

And it seemed in that moment that he could do nothing else.

 

“Shhh,” she shushed him gently, running her fingers through his hair in a slow, rhythmic gesture of comfort that only made his tears flow harder. “It’s okay, Baby – it’s okay…”

 

Her arms tightened slightly around him as she turned and guided them slowly away from the wall. As he felt her gently push him down to sit beside her, as she sat down on the edge of the bed, Spike suddenly tried to pull away from her, panic gripping him at the thought that all of this, this comfort and tenderness, might be nothing more than a trick to get him back into the same position in which she had had him the night before.

 

“No!” he gasped out urgently, pulling back to meet her eyes with a wild fear in his own. “Buffy, no! I don’t want to…”

 

“I know,” she assured him, shaking her head. “I know, Baby, it’s all right…we won’t do anything tonight, okay? Just – just let me try to make it up to you – okay?”

 

*Impossible…*

 

“Okay,” he nodded with a soft, miserable whisper, as he allowed her to take him back into her arms for a few moments.

 

After a little while, she pulled back, meeting his gaze with tenderness and compassion. “Do you have any first aid supplies?” she asked him in a soft, sympathetic tone.

 

He nodded, gesturing toward the tiny bathroom corner. “Over there, love,” he replied, his voice dull and empty, but no longer panicked as it had been.

 

Buffy nodded as she rose and gathered the supplies, before bringing them back and sitting down behind him on the bed.

 

He shivered as she ran her warm hands delicately down the pale, battered flesh of his back – broken by the blows she had struck him the night before, first with his own belt, and then with a thin, wooden switch, until his entire back had been a mass of bleeding, torn welts and bruises.

 

It had healed a little by now – but not completely by any means.

 

“See – I thought you enjoyed this as much as I did, Baby,” she leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “I thought it was what you wanted…”

 

*Yeah,* he thought bitterly. *That’s why I was begging you to stop, right? Why you had to bloody gag me to keep me from telling you how much I *didn’t* want it?*

 

Buffy took her time as she worked, and it seemed that she was deliberately drawing out the contact, turning each simple movement into a caress – enticing Spike’s body to betray him.

 

He wanted her – and he was ashamed that he wanted her.

 

When she had finished, she wrapped her arms gently but firmly around him from behind, pulling him down beside her as she laid herself down on the bed. Spike tensed at the movement, choking back his instinctive cry for her to stop, to leave him alone.

 

*She’s not gonna…she wouldn’t…not again…not…*

 

“Shhh,” Buffy whispered in his ear, cradling him close to her as she rested her head on his shoulder from behind. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Baby – it’s okay – not gonna hurt you…”

 

*No, you’re not…* Spike finally accepted the words she had repeated over and over, allowing himself against his better judgment and a sense of rising self-disgust to nestle into the gentle embrace that he so craved, in spite of all. *Not tonight…*


	4. Chapter 4

  
  
  


Over the next few weeks, the vague concerns that Tara had held about the troubling dynamic that seemed to exist between the Slayer and the chipped vampire, began to intensify, as more and more troubling bits of information seemed to surface.

 

First of all, there was the ever-increasing darkness that Tara had begun to notice in the Slayer’s aura. While she still made jokes with her friends and attempted to convince them all that everything was okay, Tara could tell that not all was right in Buffy-land – and had not been, truth be told, since her resurrection.

 

Beneath the cheerfulness and light-hearted manner she made such an effort to display lurked a chilling undercurrent of hostility and deception.

 

And as for Spike – well, the dramatic change in him was even more disturbing.

 

Tara had always been more than a little intrigued by the vast array of colors that were usually visible in his aura. As a soulless creature of the night, she would have thought that, if he had an aura at all, it would have been dark and oppressive. But Spike’s essence had always been much more complex than that, filled with vibrant reds and yellows, and a large array of soft blue tones as well – with very little darkness, really.

 

Until recently.

 

A dark gray cloud seemed to have descended over Spike, blotting out the brilliant hues and making them appear faded, dull, and weak. Where before Tarahad always sensed an air of carefree confidence around the vampire, now there was uncertainty and a deep sadness.

 

Most disturbing of all to Tara was the unmistakable thread of fear that seemed to constantly surround him lately.

 

And that was just his aura.

 

Physically – the poor thing was a wreck.

 

Most times she ran into him – which seemed to be less and less frequently lately – Spike appeared to be anxious and exhausted, jumpy, his nerves apparently frayed nearly to the breaking point. And almost always, he seemed to bear the marks of some recent fight – bruises and other wounds easily evident, although he seemed unusually self-conscious about them, attempting to conceal the injuries when he could.

 

And shouldn’t a vampire be more inclined to *flaunt* his battle scars? Tara wondered. If they *were* battle scars, that was.

 

There was rarely a mark on his hands – which were often shaky these days, but rarely sporting the bruised knuckles that one would have expected, judging from all the other evidence of violence his body displayed.

 

Tara steeled herself again with the thoughts of the mounting evidence of her suspicions, as she made her way through town toward Restfield Cemetery, reminding herself once more that if no one else was going to notice, or care, she owed it to the vampire to at least ask him if everything was all right.

 

After all – he was the one who had finally revealed the truth about her, and freed her from the family legend that had kept her a prisoner among her own family.

 

Yes, she decided, her jaw setting with resolution. It was far past time to pay Spike a visit.

 

****************************

 

Spike didn’t know how long he had been sitting there on the floor of his crypt – just sitting there, his back to the wall, his mind an exhausted, overwhelmed blank, as he stared into space through one freshly blackened eye.

 

The other was swollen shut.

 

Finally, as he felt the haze of sleep coming over him, Spike forced himself to his feet, aware that if he did not get up now and get himself cleaned up, he would pass out where he was – leaving himself fair game for any nasty that decided to come calling while he was unconscious.

 

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Spike reached up to grasp the arm of his chair and pull himself to his feet, faltering once or twice before he managed to gain his footing. He winced as he made his way to his bathroom with a painfully pronounced limp, favoring his right leg, which he was not entirely sure was not broken.

 

 

_“I don’t have to bloody put up with this, Slayer!” he cried out defiantly, shoving her back a few steps in response to the violent shove that had slammed him into the wall. “You keep treating me this way, one of these days you’re gonna come looking to scratch your little itch and find me good and gone, love!”_

 

_Her eyes narrowed in menace over a challenging smile, eyebrows raised as she shifted in closer to him, grasping his arms and slamming him back again, pinning him there with her full strength and not allowing him to push her away as he had done before._

 

_“You gonna leave me, Spike?” she questioned, a subtle mockery to her voice. “Is that what you’re saying? You’re gonna leave me?”_

 

_His manner automatically changed, as he detected the thinly veiled threat in her words. Still, he could not quite bring himself to back down completely – not so easily…_

 

_“I – I don’t want to, Buffy,” he relented slightly, his eyes nervously averted, his arms straining as they tested her powerful grip – and found it unyielding. “It’s just – I don’t wanna leave you…”_

 

_“Well, that’s good – ‘cause I don’t want you to,” the Slayer replied in a dangerously soft voice – before drawing back her foot and delivering several vicious kicks in rapid succession to his bare legs._

 

_As often was the case during these little altercations, she had managed to get him undressed already, while she remained fully clothed – leaving him at a decided disadvantage._

 

_Spike bit back a startled cry of pain and tried to avoid the blows, but had no room to even try to move away, as she crushed his legs repeatedly between the stone wall and her sharp-heeled boot with the full impact of her Slayer-strength. She didn’t stop until his legs were black and blue and most likely broken in several places, and he had nearly collapsed, her hands on his arms nearly all that was holding him up._

 

_“Please, Buffy – please stop,” he pleaded in a voice that was nearly a sob, his eyes closed against the tears of pain that filled them._

 

_“Now – you won’t be going anywhere for a while, will you, Sweetheart?” she taunted him softly, her cold jade eyes boring into his until he was forced to meet her gaze._

 

_Wide blue eyes full of fear and pain locked onto hers, as he shook his head, whispering in a trembling voice of quiet anguish, “No…no, Buffy, I’m sorry…I won’t…”_

 

_“No, you won’t!” she snarled, shaking him hard against the wall. “Because you’re mine, Spike! Do you get that yet? You…are…*mine*! And if you *ever* try to leave me – I’ll dust you so fast you won’t even get out the door! Do you understand me?”_

 

_“Yes – yes, Buffy” he hurriedly agreed to her demand, desperate just to appease this terrifying, oppressive creature that his love had transformed into before his very eyes. “I won’t leave – I’ll never leave you…”_

 

 

Spike braced most of his weight against the stone slab that served as his bathroom counter, dipping one hand into the basin of water that rested on it and bringing it to his mouth. It was very cold, and felt good against the broken, bloodied flesh of his mouth; and he rinsed his mouth until the water he spat out was only faintly pink with the last traces of blood.

 

He was grateful at the moment that he could not see his reflection; he was sure that he looked terrible, if the way he felt was any indication.

 

With a heavy sigh of weariness, he stood up straight, attempting to leave the bathroom – and nearly collapsed, as a sudden wave of lightheadedness nearly took him to the floor. He stood there for a few minutes, trembling arms clinging to the counter as he struggled to remain upright, and regain his balance.

 

The dizziness was just beginning to pass, when he heard the soft sound of his crypt door swinging open upstairs. His throat closed off with fear, his heart lurching – before he realized that it could not have been her.

 

She would never have entered his home so quietly.

 

*Someone – something – else…sneaking in, looking for a place to bed down for the night…or something to steal…*

 

He momentarily considered going upstairs to defend what meager possessions he owned – and then laughed silently at the very thought.l

 

*You can barely move, mate – let alone fight…best lay low until they’re gone…*

 

He turned sharply toward the upstairs entrance, when he heard the soft footsteps on the upper level slowly approaching it – trying hard to focus on the sound, above the gradually intensifying roar behind his eyes…

 

The next thing he knew, his legs had given out under him, and he had crumpled to the floor, his weakened, shattered legs tangled beneath him in a painful heap. He bit back a cry that would surely have drawn the intruder straight to him, as he made a pitiful effort to pull himself back to his feet again.

 

When he only succeeded in nearly passing out again, Spike gave up, using his arms to draw his body back, fully into the little bathroom alcove, with no option left but just to hope that whatever was in his crypt would not find him there.

 

*She may have done it to you this time,* he thought drowsily, the words fading in and out as his mind staggered along the edge between consciousness and unconsciousness. *She may have finally killed you.*

 

If whatever was currently making its way down the ladder to his bedroom intended to kill him – there wasn’t a bloody thin he could do about it, in the state in which she had left him.

 

He was hovering on the edge of oblivion, his eyes closed, when he heard the soft gasp from just a few feet in front of him – recognized the soft, gentle voice.

 

“Oh my God, *Spike*!”

 

H could have cried with relief.

 

As the soft-spoken girl crouched down beside him, placing an arm around him from behind, under his arms, and carefully hoisting him to his feet beside her, he heard her trembling, anguished voice whisper near his face, “Oh, Spike – your beautiful face! Who would have done this to you?”

 

Spike could not remember the last time anyone had spoken to him with such tender concern – let alone called him beautiful. And the simple words of genuine compassion seemed to flow from Tara like second nature.

 

No – for her, he knew, it was *first* nature.

 

This time – Spike *did* cry.

 

 

_“You think you’re so hot, Spike, is that it? You’ve got girls just lining up to be with you if you decide to reject *me*? *Me*! You think you’re good enough to turn *me* down?” The Slayer demanded, enraged by his attempts to resist her advances._

 

_“No – no, Buffy, that’s not…”_

 

_His cautious attempt at explanation was cut off by a vicious slap across his face, before Buffy leaned in very close to him, snarling, “You’re not! You’re a filthy, ugly *thing*, Spike! You *disgust* me!”_

 

_Each word was spoken slowly and clearly, emphasized by her hatred and fury, to cause the maximum hurt and shame._

 

_“I’m sorry, Buffy,” he tried again in a desperate whisper, tears streaking his face despite his best efforts to keep them back._

 

_His tears inspired nothing but further rage from the Slayer._

 

_Her fist came down across his face next, with the harsh command, “*Shut up*!”_

 

_She hit him twice more before calming slightly, leaning into his face with a cruel, angry smile, her eyes glittering with cold, sadistic pleasure in the hurtful words she was inflicting, words that she knew hurt far worse than any blow she had every dealt him._

 

_“I *hate* you, Spike. And I hate myself for lowering myself to be with you. You are a *disgusting*…*filthy*...*monster*…and you are damn lucky to get anything I decide to give you, do you understand that?”_

 

_Spike nodded, unable to speak for the tears that choked him, his wounded heart whispering that she was right, he didn’t deserve her, had never deserved her – why had he allowed himself to ever think that she might love him?_

 

_This was all there was – all he could ever hope to have from her._

 

_And the worst part was – if this was all there was, he would take it, over having her walk out of his life._

 

_Spike had never felt so ugly before in his entire existence._

 

 

Spike didn’t realize that he had blacked out, until he came around to the soft sounds of Tara’s soothing whisper.

 

“Shhh…it’s okay, Spike…it’s okay…”

 

 carefully dabbing at the broken skin beneath his eyes with a soft cloth.

 

He had also not realized that he had been crying.

 

He tried to sit up, pulling weakly away from her hand, as he felt his face heat with shame. He wondered anxiously, if he had been crying even while unconscious – what might he have said during that time as well? What had Tara heard? How much had she seen?

 

“I – I’m okay, love,” he managed to get the words out, though they were slow and slurred, as he struggled around broken teeth and bruised lips to speak the words. “You – you don’t have to…”

 

“Stop it.” Tara’s voice was slightly sharper than he had heard it before – a no-nonsense tone that clearly said she had little time for his clearly untrue claims to be “fine”; she was far too busy trying to help him, to deal with his obligatory male posturing at the moment. “You are very much not okay, and I’m going to help you – and since you can’t exactly do anything to stop me, you’d better just get used to the idea.”

 

Spike really had no answer for that unexpected statement.

 

He blinked at her in surprise, wincing slightly at the pain in his swollen eye – and studied her quietly as she hurried about his bedroom, gathering supplies, and then sat on the edge of the bed, carefully, gently cleaning and bandaging his many injuries.

 

“It’ll take you all night, Glinda…” He tried for a weak smile that never quite made it past his bruised, trembling lips.

 

“Well, good, because that’s what I’ve got.” Her own attempt at a smile was a bit more successful than his, but still full of a deep sorrow that her eyes could not hide. “And it’s not like *you’re* going anywhere tonight.”

 

When he looked away, obviously embarrassed or troubled by her words, Tara frowned.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately, her voice softening slightly. “I didn’t mean – I mean, I know you’ve probably got plenty of things you could be doing – and where you go and what you do and – who you do it with – totally not my business…I just meant that right now, y-you don’t exactly s-seem up to m-moving much, a-and – and I’m – r-rambling, aren’t I? I-I’m sorry…”

 

Her sudden self-consciousness hardly registered with Spike, and he did not look up. His eyes remained focused on the mattress between them, as his mind replayed the beginning of this hellish night, again and again.

 

It had all started because he had not been here when she had come for him.

 

 

_“Where were you?”_

 

_He had stared at her for a long moment, torn between his desire to please her, and reassure her that he had not in any way been unfaithful to the strange, painful, quasi-relationship they had; and his heart’s indignant cry that it was really none of her business, if she could not be bothered to claim him as her own publicly, to treat him like an equal, a partner, then what business was it of hers if he wanted to go out and shag a different vamp bint every night of the week?_

 

_“Not really your business, is it, love?” His voice had come out terse and sharp._

 

_"No...I suppose it's not," she had remarked in a voice of mild, controlled surprise, as he had turned his back on her, going to his refrigerator to get his blood._

 

_That had been his first and worst mistake._

 

_She had been behind him in an instant, one powerful hand at his throat, choking him, while her other hand had twisted his arm painfully behind his back, and she had hissed in his ear in a furious whisper._

 

_"Not my business, huh? When are you going to get it, Spike? You are *mine*! I'm not gonna be sleeping with you if you're out whoring around with any..."_

 

_"I wasn't...Buffy, I didn't..."_

 

_"Shut up!" she had snarled, slamming his face forward against the corner of his refrigerator, and breaking his nose in the process, before slinging him around and throwing him to the floor, a few feet from the entrance to his lower level bedroom._

 

_She had reached him before he could even begin to get up, and grabbed his hair, yanking him up only as far as his knees. He stared up at her with wide, apprehensive eyes, as she glared down at him with barely restrained rage._

 

_The silence extended between them, a living, consuming thing._

 

_In that moment, Spike knew that she was still in control -- for now. She had the choice yet to make -- to give in to her rage, or to take it back in hand, and stop this now._

 

_He saw it when she made her decision, drawing back her free hand to backhand him hard, at the same moment releasing her grip on him so that he fell back to the floor, losing his balance._

 

_Her voice was low and dark and menacing, as she commanded quietly, "Get down there."_

 

_And Spike knew at that moment how the rest of the night would go._

 

 

"Spike?"

 

He shook his head slowly, forcing himself to focus on the blonde witch as she gently turned his face to meet her eyes.

 

"Sorry, love -- what?"

 

"I just said -- this is r-really bad, Spike," Tara repeated patiently, her soft eyes large and serious as she searched his gaze for answers to her questions.

 

He was too afraid that she might actually find them to hold her gaze for long.

 

"Yeah -- been worse," he shrugged, wincing when even that slight gesture was painful.

 

And he wasn't exactly sure that it actually ever *had* been worse.

 

"Spike -- don't try to play this down," Tara shook her head, a sad, mildly disapproving frown creasing her pretty features. "This is serious. Somebody really worked you over -- and left you here, alive. Which kinda gives me the impression -- *not* the work of the latest big evil, you know?"

 

Spike became even more intent on avoiding her gaze, swallowing convulsively as he began to become aware of what it was that she was suggesting.

 

"Yeah, well -- even some demons know how to show a little mercy on a bloke who's already down..."

 

*Just the Slayer -- she's the only one that doesn't...*

 

"Spike."

 

Tara's voice was firm, authoritative, as she once again gently tilted his head up to look at her. "Kinda psychic here. You're not fooling anyone."

 

His eyes widened with the beginnings of panic, as he asked in a trembling, anxious voice, "You -- you can read my thoughts?"

 

"Not exactly," she shrugged. "I'm nowhere near that powerful -- but I *can* kinda get a feel for what you're feeling -- and I *do* know when you're lying. And I also know -- it wasn't any demon that did this to you."

 

Spike tried to look away again, but she did not allow it, her piercing gaze boring into his as she requested in a gentle but firm tone, "Spike -- tell me what happened tonight. Who did this to you?"


	5. Chapter 5

  
  


Spike could not raise his eyes to meet the searching gaze of the blonde witch, choosing instead to focus on the tangled bedclothes that half-covered his battered, naked form.

 

“Got in a fight,” he replied quietly to her question. “Patrollin’. Not any big secret, love…just…tangled with something a bit bigger than me…”

 

“Hmm.” The short, skeptical sound drew his eyes up momentarily to hers in surprise. “Funny. ‘Cause, I was thinking something a little *smaller*…and do you often patrol *naked*?”

 

Spike’s eyes immediately fell again, and he swallowed hard, not daring a response for a few moments.

 

Finally he said in a soft voice of resignation, “Look, Glinda – don’t much feel like talking about it at the moment. I’m bloody tired – sore – and not trying to be unappreciative, pet, because this is bloody kind of you, but – I really just want to get some sleep, yeah?”

 

Tara was quiet for a moment, but he could still feel her studious eyes focused on his face – and it made him feel self-conscious and a little bit afraid…not of Tara, but of what the consequences might be if he allowed her to figure out the Slayer’s secret.

 

“Okay,” she finally relented, and Spike forced himself not to visibly show his relief. “Whatever you want, Spike. But you’re *not* getting rid of me until I’ve gotten you patched up a little – deal?”

 

Spike knew it was the very least that she was going to agree to – and he wasn’t exactly sure that he could move on his own the way he felt, let alone tend to his own countless injuries.

 

“Deal,” he agreed softly.

 

“Now,” she nodded as she reached up to take him by the shoulders, shifting him cautiously so that he was lying back further against the pillows stacked behind him. “I really didn’t get very far before you passed out on me. I just managed to get you to the bed is all…so…this could take a little while…”

 

“ ‘S what I said,” Spike muttered, just a bit of a sullen note to his voice, expressing his resentment at having no choice but to accept her help. “ ‘S your choice, Glinda…don’t stay on my account…”

 

“That’s exactly why I’m staying, Spike.” That tone that was slightly reprimanding, somehow both gentle and sharp at the same time, was back in her voice – and Spike felt a little stirring sensation in his heart, as he remembered the last time he had heard that tone in anyone’s voice, when speaking to him.

 

His mother’s voice.

 

“I’m staying because you need someone to help you right now!” Tara continued. “I mean – if you really want me to, I could go, and leave you here to deal with what’s quite possibly two broken legs and a shattered up ribcage all on you own -- you know, so whatever monster decided to come looking around your crypt can finish you off -- or I can stay and get you patched up, so your legs don't heal up all crooked and you don't walk like Quasimodo for the rest of your short and painful life. Your choice, Spike."

 

He hesitated just a moment -- but was forced to acknowledge the simple common sense of her words.

 

"Fine," he muttered, finally relenting completely. "Please -- stay." His voice was flat, resigned, as he uttered the courtesy of an actual invitation.

 

"Good," Tara replied firmly, pausing just a moment before adding, "Because I was going to, anyway."

 

There was moment’s startled silence, as Spike took in her words – and then began to laugh softly. Tara looked up at him, surprised, to see him shaking his head, a slightly bemused expression on his face.

 

“Well,” he huffed softly, though he did not seem really upset. “ ‘S long as we’ve got *that* settled…”

 

Tara couldn’t help it; she started to laugh too.

 

The tension eased between them, Tara decided that it was time to set about actually tending to the vampire’s wounds, if she was indeed going to finish at some time before morning.

 

“Okay,” she began patiently, her hand resting at the edge of the sheet that was draped over Spike’s body to just slightly below his waist. “I’m pretty sure your legs are broken…so I’m gonna n-need to take this sh-sheet down…”

 

“Won’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you, love,” Spike’s lips turned up in a slight smirk, as he met her eyes with one eyebrow raised suggestively.

 

Tara flushed slightly with embarrassment, but shrugged her shoulders and met his gaze as she added flatly, “I grew up with three brothers – it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

 

Spike accepted that, nodding and leaning his head back against the pillows again, closing his eyes. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “Between that and the whole lesbian thing – my manly bits ought to be pretty much safe, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Tara replied a bit absently as she pulled the sheet back – her eyes widening in horror at the ghastly display that was the vampire’s battered body. “Okay,” she added, her voice slow and carefully even. “Um – this is worse than I thought…I’ll be right back, Spike, okay?”

 

“Okay,” he replied, his eyes still closed, not moving as she covered him back up for the moment and went to his bathroom to gather a basin of warm water and a few extra bandages.

 

When she returned and carefully pulled the sheet back again, she froze, a troubled frown creasing her brow. Spike was still lying on his back, propped slightly up on the pillows, his eyes closed and his expression blank and even – perhaps a little *too* blank and even.

 

Especially considering the fact that his entire body was shaking.

 

“Spike,” she softly began, her voice a slow, gentle whisper as she reached out a hand to touch his arm – and he nearly jumped through the ceiling. “It’s okay…calm down, okay? If you – if you don’t want me to…”

 

“No,” he cut her off in a low, gruff voice, not opening his eyes. “I – I need you to do this.” A brittle smile crossed his face as he added with a forced laugh, “Can’t – can’t exactly do it m’self, can I, love?”

 

His tone made it clear that the admission was very difficult for him.

 

“No,” she agreed. “No, you can’t.”  

 

She hesitated a moment, her hand running slowly and soothingly up and down his arm in an attempt to settle him, as she dipped a soft cloth in the basin of warm water and began gently bathing his battered legs before she continued, “Whatever happened, Spike – I know it’s none of my business – but – but it’s over now. Whoever did this – they’re not here now. I am. And *I’m* not going to hurt you – so you can just relax – okay?”

 

Spike was quiet for a moment, his jaw working in an effort to repress the emotions that were brought closer to the surface by her compassionate, perceptive words and the gentle touch that was so unlike any he could even remember feeling before.

 

Finally he whispered, “Okay…trying, love…”

 

Tara’s face crumpled at the heart-breaking vulnerability and honesty in his low, quiet voice, and she was grateful that his eyes were closed, not allowing him to see the pity she felt.

 

“I know,” she reassured him softly as she continued to work on his wounds.

 

As Tara continued her gentle ministrations, cleaning and bandaging all of the open wounds that scored Spike’s pale flesh; binding broken limbs tightly to help them to heal correctly; and soothing each bruise, each torn place, with an ointment that he had had in his bathroom, but that she had made a bit more effective with a few carefully chosen Latin words spoken over it – the tears she had been fighting were now flowing freely down her face.

 

She had grown up in an abusive home, and had received her share of beatings from her father, and on occasion even from her brothers. She had spent the past two years hanging around the Scoobie gang, and had seen her share of evil and violence in that time, and the aftermath, in the form of injuries that Buffy, Xander, Willow, and even Spike, had taken in the course of “fighting the good fight”.

 

Never had she seen anything that compared with the brutality that had been unleashed on Spike’s broken, damaged form.

 

His right leg *was* broken, and terribly bruised all around one spot – as if someone had repeatedly struck in that one spot, with brutal force. His ribcage was almost black with bruising, and Tara knew enough to recognize the signs of broken ribs when she saw it. His entire body was covered in bruises of varying degrees and colors – telling the witch that every mark she saw was not the result of tonight’s attack.

 

This had been only one of many recent beatings.

 

Even more disturbing to her were the traces of dried fluid, the strange bruising around his groin – evidence that at some point during the course of this evening, Spike had had sex. But the signs that it had obviously been a violent sort of coupling, in combination with the brutal beating that apparently had been a part of the encounter, made Tara wonder with a sinking feeling of dread…

 

Had it been of the vampire’s own free will…or had he been forced?

 

And as always – there were his untouched, perfect hands to consider…evidence that during the whole violent affair, he had not lifted a finger in his own defense.

 

As she gently worked over him, she was relieved to feel Spike’s body begin to gradually relax into her hands, his rapid, anxious breathing slowing to a steady pace, as he began to drift off, lulled to rest by the soft, soothing motions of her hands over his injuries – and by the spell Tara was whispering under her breath as she worked.

 

“Wha…what are you doin’ to me,” Spike mumbled, his head falling to the side, his eyes opening with an effort – but he did not sound particularly upset.

 

“Just helping you relax,” Tara reassured him. “It’s a sort of – emotional anesthetic, you might say.” She frowned, suddenly anxious. “Is – is that okay? I just thought it would – make this easier for you, Spike…”

 

He nodded weakly, as if half-asleep still. “ ‘S fine,” he murmured. “Thanks, love…”

 

Finishing up, Tara glanced toward the entrance at the top of the ladder, and noticed the soft gray light, telling her that the sun was already up. She frowned with concern, thinking, as she put away the few first aid supplies she had not used, and returned to Spike’s side.

 

He was trapped here – helpless – should the person who had done this to him decide to come back.

 

And she was not going to push the issue, but she had a very good idea that she knew who that person was.

 

“Spike?” she said softly as she knelt beside the bed, reaching out a gentle hand to cup his cheek and turn his face toward her.

 

“Mmmm,” he mumbled, barely opening his eyes – much more relaxed now than he had been when she had arrived.

 

“I need to go…I have class…but I’ll come back to check on you tonight, okay?”

 

Spike nodded, his eyes struggling to focus on her, a distant, dream-like expression in his eyes. “ ‘kay,” he whispered.

 

“I – I don’t want to leave you here,” Tara admitted, frowning as she glanced anxiously toward the ladder again. “I mean – the spell I did should help you sleep all day – and you *need* to sleep – but if – if somebody were to come in here…there’s no way you’d be up to defending yourself…”

 

Spike’s blue eyes had finally focused fully on hers, wide and trusting and full of a softness and vulnerability, in this half-conscious state, that nearly broke her heart, in thinking how that vulnerability had been exploited.

 

A soft, distant smile crossed the vampire’s face as he mumbled with just a trace of his usual irony, “Don’t think I’d be…up to it…anyway, love…”

 

Tara smiled with relief, both at his weak attempt at a joke, and at the sign that he was at least alert enough to hear what she was about to say.

 

“No,” she agreed, shaking her head as she met his eyes with a tender sympathy. “No, you wouldn’t. That’s why – that’s why I’d like to do something for you, Spike…I’d like to do a spell – over the crypt…I’d like to make it so that nobody could get in, without your invitation.”

 

Spike’s eyes widened slightly, and he seemed a bit more alert, as he thought over what she had said, trying hard to process it through the sweet, blissful oblivion that was pressing his mind to rest.

 

“Y-you – you can do that?” he asked, a bit incredulous.

 

Tara nodded. “I can. And that way – nobody could get in to hurt you, you know? You’d be s-safe…until I come back tonight. Okay?”

 

Spike hesitated, frowning as sleep continued to creep back up on him, muddling his thoughts and making it hard to focus. “Yeah,” he whispered with a strangely ironic smile. “Safe…”

 

“Is that okay?” Tara pressed him gently.

 

“Sh-she won’t like it,” he slurred slightly as his eyes closed again, his head falling limply against her hand as he struggled to stay awake a few moments longer. “Sh-she…” His voice trailed off, as his body’s weariness, and the sleeping spell combined to take him over.

 

“She who, Spike?” Tara asked him, her eyes widening with something that was not quite surprise.

 

She had had a feeling it was a “she”.

 

“Spike – she who?” she repeated.

 

But it was useless. The vampire was asleep.

 

He had not exactly given his permission for her to do the spell – but he *had* sounded as if the idea of safety was a welcome one to him, if a foreign one, lately. And he had not told her *not* to do the spell; he had only said that “she” would not like it, apparently meaning if she tried to come in and found that she could not.

 

Tara smiled grimly at that thought.

 

“Well, I don’t give a damn whether or not *she* likes it,” she muttered, to herself, as Spike was dead to the world. “I’m not letting her hurt him – not if I can stop her.”

 

She performed the simply incantation while she was still standing in the crypt, therefore allowing her to come back inside later that evening without an invitation. She was pretty sure that Spike would be still sleeping when she returned, or at the very least not able to get out of bed just yet.

 

She returned to his bedside for a moment before leaving, looking down at him with an aching sorrow in her heart, to see the ruin that had been left of the supposedly “evil” creature, whose heart and the love that filled it were so much bigger than those she had seen in most humans that she knew.

 

She leaned down to gently kiss his cheek, before standing up straight again.

 

He never knew she’d done it, sound asleep by now, the rest and magic doing their work to help his body to recover.

 

“I’ll come back, Spike,” she promised softly. “And no one will touch you until I do.”


	6. Chapter 6

Spike’s sleep was deep and dreamless, as his body took advantage of the magic boost, and the much-needed rest, that Tara had provided, in order to begin to heal the injuries the Slayer had inflicted.

 

He was completely unaware when the blonde witch entered his crypt late that afternoon, just before sunset; and oblivious as she pulled back the sheet and soft blanket that covered him, and carefully inspected his various wounds, reapplying ointment and changing bandages on some of them as needed.

 

He awoke all at once, and rather suddenly, in the dim stillness of his bedroom, sitting up in the bed and looking around the room, blinking sleepily. His interior “clock” told him that it was evening, and time to get up; what he wasn’t sure of was whether or not he was able to get up yet.

 

That was when he realized that he was already sitting straight up – and without pain.

 

A cautious hand went to his ribcage, as he looked down, feeling across his torso carefully as he noted the freshly changed bandages that bound it – and the encouraging fact that it was no longer sore and painful to his touch. His bruises and other injuries seemed to have mostly healed while he had slept.

 

His jaw set with determination, as he pulled back the sheet and examined his legs. The right one had been splinted, the left nearly purple with bruises, when he had gone to sleep. Now, the left appeared undamaged – as if the beating had never occurred – and the right was free of the splint that had held it in place. Glancing to the side, he noticed the splint leaning against the foot of the bed, and wondered when it had been removed.

 

He had no doubt as to who had removed it.

 

His eyes widened as the foggy memory of the spell Tara had described came back to his mind – and he found himself wondering anxiously if Buffy had been by since then. It was not really very likely, considering that it was just barely beginning to get dark outside now.

 

Still…

 

He steeled himself for the pain as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, and cautiously got to his feet – but was pleasantly surprised at how mild the pain really was. His legs were not *completely* healed – it seemed that the damage to them was too much for even Tara’s healing spell to do *overnight* -- but he found that he could easily walk on them, with only a slight limp.

 

He glanced dubiously at the ladder, wondering if he could manage it.

 

He had just about decided that he could – and was at least going to try – when he heard footsteps on the upper level floor, moving toward the ladder.

 

He hated the sudden lurching of his stomach, the freezing of his muscles, as he momentarily wondered if it was Buffy.

 

After all, it was rare for anyone else to visit him here.

 

Until last night.

 

*Not Buffy – couldn’t be – would have sensed her by now – besides – she can’t get in – can’t get in until -- *unless* -- I invite her,* he reminded himself firmly, physically forcing himself to relax a little, returning to sit down on the side of his bed as Tara descended the ladder.

 

She smiled in surprise when she saw him awake, alert, and waiting for her.

 

“Hey,” she greeted him softly, as she moved to sit down on the bed beside him, handing him the warmed mug of blood in her left hand. “How’d you sleep?”

 

Spike stared at the mug in his hand as he nodded. “Good,” he replied, unusually subdued. “Thanks,” he added softly, meeting her eyes for a moment, almost shyly, before turning his full attention to the blood, downing it in a single draught.

 

“No problem.”

 

“Good timing,” Spike remarked, nodding toward the empty mug in his hand. “Just woke up.”

 

“I knew the spell would be wearing off around now,” Tara explained softly, not quite looking at him.

 

There was a moment of awkward silence between them, before Spike cleared his throat and asked in a carefully casual voice, “So…when did you get here, love?”

 

“A couple of hours ago,” she admitted with a self-conscious smile. “I checked your bandages, and – and straightened up a little…upstairs.”

 

“You didn’t have to do that, Glinda.” Spike looked up at her in surprise, and just a little bit of wonder.

 

He could not remember the last time someone had treated him as kindly as Tara had been treating him these past couple of days.

 

Tara shrugged. “I wanted to be sure you were okay.”

 

The vampire was speechless for a long moment; that statement was even *more* stunning to him. Finally, he cleared his throat again a bit nervously, before venturing the question that had been in his mind almost since waking up.

 

“So – anyone – come by? While I was sleeping?”

 

Tara looked up at him sharply, and Spike quickly looked away, struggling to keep his expression neutral. After a moment’s pause, Tara replied in a voice that was just a bit too knowing for Spike’s comfort, “No. Not since I’ve been here, anyway.” After a moment’s hesitation, she added in a soft voice with just a slight edge to it, “Were you expecting someone?”

 

“No,” was the immediate answer, as Spike shook his head firmly. “No, no one.”

 

“Uh - *huh*…” Tara’s voice was skeptical, as she rose from the bed, holding out her hand for the mug.

 

Spike glanced up at her through anxious, uncertain eyes, placing it in her hand – and grimaced slightly at the tight expression of controlled anger he saw on her face. Of course, Tara’s anger was nothing like Buffy’s anger; Spike had no fear that she might strike out at him as the Slayer did so often, and even had she chosen to do so, he knew that she would not have been able to really hurt him.

 

Still, he couldn’t help feeling strangely bereft, as if he had somehow offended this unexpected angel of mercy, as she made her way back up the ladder without another word to him.

 

When she returned a few moments later, he was surprised to see that she had refilled the mug, without his asking.

 

“Thank…” he began – his words cut off suddenly when she thrust the mug into his hands, nearly splashing blood out onto his bedspread. He watched her warily as she crossed her arms over her chest, stalking angrily back toward the ladder.

 

A few feet from it, she spun around to face him, her jaw stubbornly set, her normally soft gray eyes flashing fire at him.

 

“I know you don’t want to talk about this,” she began, her words coming out in a hurried stream, for once devoid of her usual stutter, “and you don’t have to, it’s totally up to you. But I just have to say this.”

 

Spike immediately knew where she was going with her statements, and found that he could no longer hold her gaze. “Tara,” he began in a nervous, almost pleading voice. “Tara, just…”

 

His words broke off suddenly as a loud crashing sound was heard from upstairs – and Spike flinched violently, his wide blue eyes staring up the ladder with obvious dread.

 

He recognized that sound.

 

The sound of his crypt door smashing open as it had done so many times before was followed by the sound of the Slayer’s voice, cursing furiously as her foot followed the door – and slammed painfully into the invisible barrier.

 

“What the…?” they could hear her mutter from the doorway – and then louder, as she called, “Spike? *Spike*!”

 

The vampire rose from the bed on trembling legs, his downcast eyes glancing sideways at Tara as he hurried toward the ladder. “S-stay here,” he said softly, his tone more plea than command. “It’s best if she – I mean – I’d rather talk to her alone…”

 

Tara caught his arm as he stepped onto the ladder, her heart smitten within her when he flinched slightly at the touch. But he *did* turn halfway toward her, though he did not look up to meet her eyes.

 

“Tara – please, just…”

 

“You don’t have to let her in.”

 

Spike froze, swallowing back a hard lump in his throat, as his desperate blue eyes flickered up to hers for just a moment in somewhat awed surprise. “I – I don’t know what you…”

 

“Spike.”

 

He gave up for the moment, waiting for her to go on.

 

“*Spike*! Where are you?” Buffy’s demanding voice called sharply from upstairs.

 

Tara’s suspicions were confirmed when Spike’s arm began to shake slightly under her hand. “You’re safe in here. No one can get in unless you let them,” she reiterated softly, firmly, as she reached up a hand to turn his face toward hers, and he reluctantly met her eyes.

 

“And you *don’t* have to let them.”

 

Spike was silent for a long moment, not sure how to respond. “I – I have to go,” he finally replied in a voice that was barely over a whisper. “Just – just please wait here. She might not like it if she knew you were here – might – might think I was up to my old evil tricks.”

 

Tara was firmly convinced that his real fears were much different – but she did not press the issue. “I’ll be right here if you need me,” she nodded slowly, releasing her gentle grip on his arm.

 

And she fought back the sick, fearful feeling in the pit of her stomach, as Spike disappeared up the ladder.

 

***********************************

 

“What’s this?” Buffy’s voice was hard, demanding, as Spike stepped out onto the upper level of his crypt.

 

He hardly dared to meet her eyes, shrugging casually as he forced himself to approach the doorway, and finally, to look up at her. “Just your basic protection spell,” he replied in a carefully casual voice. “No one gets in without my invite.”

 

One perfectly shaped eyebrow rose dangerously – and Spike had to look away. “To keep the monsters out – while I was healing up,” he explained quietly.

 

“Oh,” Buffy nodded with false understanding, her arms crossed over her chest in impatience. Her sharp eyes raked over him, up and down, before she added in a voice of flat suspicion, “You sure healed up fast, didn’t you?”

 

“Not quite – healed yet,” he pointed out, his gaze lowered again.

 

“Close enough. Invite me in,” was her sharp command.

 

He was silent for a moment, at a complete and utter loss as to what to do.

 

He was terrified of what she might do if he let her in – not to mention the fact that she would certainly want to go downstairs, where Tara was still hiding…and he knew that Buffy would *not* be pleased to find another woman, even the gentle lesbian, in his bedroom.

 

And yet – there was a part of him that still ached for Buffy’s approval – what scant affection she offered him – and was screaming at him in desperation to *let her in*!

 

*You don’t have to let anyone in…you’re safe in here right now…*

 

“Buffy, I – I don’t think I want to do that.”

 

Spike felt as surprised as Buffy looked, when the words actually left his mouth.

 

“I’m sorry, *what*?” Buffy finally asked in sarcastic disbelief, stepping closer to the barrier, her arms uncrossing, her hands balled into frustrated fists at her sides. “Let me in, Spike!”

 

“I – I don’t think so,” he persisted, his voice rising in strength and certainty with the continued evidence that as things stood, she could not get to him. Bravely he lifted his gaze to hers, his jaw set with determination. “You – you bloody well hurt me, Buffy. Badly. And – I’m not so soddin’ eager to get beat down again.”

 

“Then maybe you’d better open the freaking door,” the Slayer bit off her words in barely restrained anger and impatience.

 

Spike shuddered slightly at the menace he heard in her voice, taking an unintentional step backward away from her.

 

“See – see, no, Buffy,” he shook his head, raising imploring eyes back up to hers, suddenly flooded with unbidden tears. “No – I don’t think you understand. I – I’m tired of letting you – do this to me. And I’m *not* going to let you in.” He paused before adding in a soft, almost despairing time, “It’s about bloody time I could feel safe in my own bleedin’ home.”

 

The tears made his voice shake dangerously, as he backed a couple more steps away from the door, not daring to look up at her, for fear of seeing the violent rage he could nearly feel radiating off of her slight but powerful form.

 

“Spike,” she finally replied, and he was surprised at the soft, patient tone of her voice. “Spike – I’m not going to hurt you, Sweetie. I just want to talk to you. About what happened.” She hesitated, before adding in a tone that sounded like genuine regret, “About – what I did. I’m – so, so sorry, Spike.”

 

Spike longed to accept the words at face value – but he knew better by now.

 

Still, he looked up at her with an uncertain hope clearly visible in his vulnerable gaze.

 

“I know I hurt you, Spike,” Buffy admitted, her own emerald eyes welling with tears that made them glimmer in the moonlight outside his door. “I know. But it’s never going to happen again, Baby. I’m so sorry. Just – let me come in, and talk to you. Let me show you that I mean it…”

 

Spike wondered incredulously if she even remembered that she had been threatening him not thirty seconds before.

 

“If you want to talk, Buffy,” he said quietly, his resolve strengthened by her slip, “then we can talk…but I’m not inviting you in. Not – not yet…”

 

He watched with a sense of instinctive dread, as the Slayer’s face twisted in rage that she was clearly having a hard time holding back. “Spike,” she ground out quietly, “this is ridiculous. I’m not going to hurt you – just ask me in.”

 

“No.”

 

“Spike, I swear if you don’t take this wall down *now*…!” Buffy snarled, all at once losing control in her frustration and slamming her fist angrily against the invisible wall in question.

 

Spike flinched – but she had just made up his mind for the moment.

 

Willing himself to remain strong, he tried to hide his limp as he made his way deliberately to the door, taking it in his hand.

 

“Go home, Buffy,” he advised her quietly, meeting her gaze with his own sad, serious eyes. “You’re not coming in here tonight.” With those emphatic words, he closed the door firmly in her face.

 

His legs shaking beneath him, in a state of near-shock from his own actions, Spike started back toward the ladder.

 

Suddenly, the door flew open again, driven inward by the Slayer’s powerful boot – and he spun around to face her, fearful, though he knew she could not get in.

 

She was smiling at him in cold fury, her arms crossed again as she met his gaze, and replied, “Maybe not tonight.”

 

And with those words, she turned and walked away.

 

Spike moved to the door, almost on autopilot at this point, and watched her until he was sure she would not be coming back right away, before closing the door again, and resting his head against it, drawing in deep, settling breaths as he struggled to recover from the intense and frightening encounter.

 

At a soft, warm touch on his arm from behind, Spike whirled around, already pushing the invasion away, his eyes closed and his back to the door, in an automatic, instantaneous panic.

 

“Shhh,” Tara soothed him gently, steadying him with a hand on each arm. “It’s okay – just me…”

 

Spike opened his eyes, now wild with confusion and shock, and stared at her for a long moment. The sympathetic, understanding expression on her face made it clearer than ever that despite his efforts to conceal it before, she had heard every word, and knew exactly what had just happened up here.

 

“I – she…I just…couldn’t…” he tried to explain, his breath coming fast and shallow in a delayed reaction, as he found that his thoughts would not straighten themselves out enough to allow him to form a coherent sentence.

 

“It’s okay,” Tara repeated softly, raising a hand to his face in comfort. “It’s all right. You did the right thing, Spike – and if anyone knows that wasn’t easy, *I* do – and I’m so proud of you.”

 

He stared at her, his eyes widening in bewilderment at her words – words that he was not quite sure he had *ever* heard before, from anyone.

 

And then, though he was never quite sure afterward just how he came to be – he was in her arms, clinging to her, as his long-repressed tears coursed down his face. Unsurprised by his inevitable eventual reaction, Tara held him close to her, going down with him when his weakened legs gave out under him, and just sitting there with him on his living room floor, as he poured out his wordless pain.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispered finally, as his tears and trembling began to ebb. “It’s okay, Spike – you’re not alone anymore.”


	7. Chapter 7

  
  
  


“You need to go.”

 

The abrupt words from the blond vampire – coming only moments after he had allowed himself to fall apart in her arms – took Tara completely by surprise. She blinked up at him in confusion and concern as he scrambled out of her embrace and to his feet, glancing anxiously toward the closed door even as he backed away from where she still sat on the floor.

 

“Spike – what’s the matter?” she asked him cautiously, as she rose to her feet without taking her eyes from his fearful face. “I mean – if you want me to go, I will, but – why?”

 

“If she comes back,” Spike explained, not quite meeting her eyes before glancing at the door again, “and you’re here – it’d be very bad, love. Very bad for both of us. You – you need to go, in case she decides to come back.”

 

Tara’s eyes widened in an indignant, incredulous look, as she dismissed the words with a wave of her hand. “She’s not gonna touch me, Spike. I mean, she might *think* she is, but there’s no way in the world…”

 

“Tara,” Spike cut her off softly – and the urgency in his quiet voice drew her to silence. “Please.” He tried a weak smile, as he added, “I’m – I’m fine now, love. Feeling a lot better – and she’s gone. I’ll be fine.”

 

She stared at him for a long moment, myriad emotions circling through her heart as she watched him swallow back his own fear in a valiant – if unsuccessful – attempt to make her believe that he would be all right on his own.

 

There was fear, that if the Slayer *did* decide to come back tonight, if she was not there, Spike might give in to her persuasion and allow her inside, breaking the protective spell that Tara had placed over his crypt.

 

There was also anger, at the thought of what the Slayer had done, would do if she got the chance -- and also at the fact that Spike might choose to *give* her that chance.

 

But surpassing it all was an aching sorrow and compassion, an affectionate concern that she had felt for the blond vampire since the first moment when she had begun to suspect that perhaps his present had some painful commonalities with her abusive past.

 

"Spike -- please listen to me," she tried gently, a part of herself already resigned to the fact that he was probably going to persist in asking her to leave.

 

And if he did -- she would go. Because he had the *right* to tell her to go; he had the right to privacy in his own home.

 

And the last thing he needed was another abuser disregarding his rights.

 

“I’m sorry,” she went on softly, with apologetic honesty, “but I really don’t think you need to be alone right now…”

 

“Love, you don’t understand!” Spike insisted, his voice trembling slightly as he moved in closer to her, but still did not meet her eyes. “You don’t know how – how angry she can get when I – when she thinks…”

 

“Okay,” Tara broke in soothingly when he seemed on the verge of losing control again. “Okay, Spike, I get it. But – okay – so what if she’s waiting out there, about to try again to get you to let her in – and I take off right now? What if she sees me coming out of your crypt – couldn’t that be just as bad?”

 

Spike’s eyes widened with realization at her words, as he stared dubiously at the closed crypt door.

 

“Bugger.”

 

Tara suppressed a smile, aware that her logic had just won her the battle.

 

Still, she hesitated just a moment before cautiously suggesting, “I guess I could – stay here tonight. Go home in the morning, when she’s either home in bed, or at work. She can’t get in here – if we go downstairs, she’ll never even know I was here.”

 

Spike looked surprised by her offer, and uncertain as to whether or not to accept it – but also just a little bit relieved, even as he voiced a token protest. “I couldn’t ask you to do that, love. I know you’d much rather spend the night in your own bed…”

 

“You didn’t ask me. I offered,” Tara pointed out firmly, moving toward him and taking his trembling hands in hers, pulling them down between them as she sought his averted gaze, and added softly, “And I know – you don’t really want to be alone tonight – do you?”

 

Spike did not look at her – but he shook his head slightly, swallowing back a sob, before he whispered his defeated response, “No.”

 

Tara nodded knowingly, a slow smile creeping across her face. “I brought movies,” she informed him in a teasingly enticing voice – and her insistent efforts were finally rewarded with a soft, shaky laugh, as Spike finally met her eyes with amused affection, and a sort of awe, at the simple but thoughtful gesture.

 

“Did you,” he replied, his tone noncommittal, but his eyes revealing his gratitude.

 

“I did. Of course – I underestimated that healing spell a little,” Tara admitted with a modest shrug. “I thought you’d still be laid up in the bed with nothing to do, so I thought you might like some entertainment. Didn’t think we’d *both* be holding our own little lock-in and watching them together – but I could do with a movie night.”

 

She frowned thoughtfully then, as she asked, “You *do* have a VCR, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah,” Spike nodded, still subdued and a little unsure, but seeming much calmer now than he had been a few minutes earlier. He glanced uneasily toward the door again before nodding toward the ladder. “Let’s go on down; I’d really rather we weren’t around if she kicks that door in again.”

 

*********************************

 

When they reached the lower level, Spike immediately disappeared into his little make-shift bathroom, leaving Tara alone in his bedroom. She had a feeling that he might be a few minutes, needing the space to gather his composure – and his pride – before facing her again.

 

While she waited, she busied herself with stripping the bed, leaving the dirty bedding, stained with blood and other substances that she didn’t want to think too hard about, in a pile near the ladder. Then, she opened a laundry bag that she had left beside the bed when she had been down here before, changing Spike’s bandages; and took from it a full set of clean, brand new sheets and a coverlet, with which she quickly and carefully made Spike’s bed.

 

He stopped short when he stepped out of the bathroom, blinking in surprise at the bed.

 

“You like?” Tara asked with a bright smile, which was still a little shy. “I thought – black was probably a little – um – stereotypical – but – there wasn’t much else to choose from, between the – various floral patterns, and the – assorted shades of pink.”

 

Spike thought for a moment that he had left the bathroom too soon, as an inexplicable wave of emotion came over him, catching in his throat and making answering her impossible for the moment.

 

*Get it together, mate,* he ordered himself with derision. *It’s a set of bloody sheets – it’s not that big a thing…nothing to get all bloody choked up over…*

 

But the fact of the matter was – even such a small thing, was a big thing to Spike.

 

He couldn’t remember receiving as many small acts of kindness from anyone in the past three years, as he had received from Tara in the past two days.

 

With an effort he blinked back fresh tears, and brought a warm smile to his face as he moved across the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “ ‘Not pink’ will do just fine, love,” he replied lightly, and then added in a more serious, sincere tone, “Thank you. I don’t know why – I mean – you didn’t have to do this.”

 

Tara dismissed his praise with a shy tuck of her head and a wave of her hand. “It’s nothing, Spike. It’s just bedsheets.”

 

“Right,” Spike echoed softly, as he leaned back against the pillows she had stacked against the headboard. “Just bedsheets.”

 

“So what movie do you wanna watch?” Tara asked, a bit too brightly as she changed the subject.

 

Before long, they were both settled comfortably on the bed, Spike seated at the top with his back against the headboard, and Tara lying on her stomach with her bare feet toward the head of the bed. The first installment of *Lord of the Rings* was playing, and they were both silent – but neither was really paying attention to the movie, each lost in their own troubled thoughts.

 

Tara was fighting a battle within herself, struggling to keep her rising anger with the Slayer at bay. All her life, she had dealt with the ghosts of her past, and the abuse she had endured, and had struggled with the inner voices of her father, her brothers, insisting that what she had experienced had been her own fault – because she was weird, bad, *evil*.

 

And now – partially through Spike’s impossibly expressive nature, and possibly through the signs she had picked up within his aura – she saw this same thing happening in Spike…his own inner voices, telling him that the beatings, the intimidation and shameful manipulation that had been forced upon him, were only his due. After all, he was only a vampire – an evil, soulless thing with no real rights of his own.

 

The only difference was, Spike’s inner voice was that of the Slayer – the supposed bastion of justice and good.

 

And while Tara fought to convince herself that her own voices were lying – the thought of Spike’s believing his so completely birthed a righteous rage within her, and she determined to make him see that he deserved so much more than what Buffy had been giving him.

 

As if he had somehow heard her thoughts, Spike spoke up softly, his words unexpected in the near-stillness of the room, the quiet soundtrack to the film they were watching, a mere backdrop to them.

 

“She wasn’t always like this, you know. Didn’t always – treat me this way.”

 

Tara was silent for a moment, and Spike began to wonder if she had even heard him. He wasn’t even sure why he had said it; he just somehow felt the need to try to make her understand that Buffy was not just some heartless monster – not just a cruel abuser with no regard for anyone but herself. The loss of her Mum – coming back from the dead – life and death had *done something* to his Slayer…and he had to try to make Tara see that.

 

When she finally did respond, the sarcasm in her words caught him off guard.

 

“Yeah, right. ‘Cause up until recently – she’s been nothing but gentleness and light.”

 

Spike was struck speechless for a moment, staring at the back of her head incredulously; and Tara slowly rolled over on her side to face him, her soft gray eyes sharp and piercing with their knowledge.

 

“She wasn’t!” Spike insisted finally, defensively. “She didn’t get like this until – well, until after we started…”

 

“Sleeping together?” Tara finished for him matter-of-factly. “So – you guys have been sleeping together for, what? As long as I’ve known you?”

 

“What? No!” Spike seemed increasingly disconcerted by her words, sitting up straighter on the bed and meeting her eyes. “When you met us, I hated her!” When she just stared at him knowingly – waiting – he sighed and amended, “Well, at least I bloody well thought I hated her! And she *didn’t* act like this…not back then…”

 

“Oh, no,” Tara replied in mock agreement. “She never…hit you…or knocked you down…she was nothing but kind and generous all the time – right?”

 

Spike was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing in restrained anger. “I was her bloody mortal enemy,” he bit off the words with very little patience in his voice.

 

“Yeah – who couldn’t fight back.”

 

“Look,” Spike exploded in defensive irritation, his crystal blue eyes flashing with angry tears as he insisted, “she’s changed! All the bloody crap that’s happened to her these past couple years – it’s done things to her! Changed her! You think she *wanted* to be this way? You think it was her choice? She didn’t mean for it to happen! It wasn’t supposed to – to happen like this…”

 

The way his voice broke over the last few words, and trailed off as his tears began to get control again, struck Tara’s heart with sorrowful compassion, and she rose up on the bed, drawing closer to Spike and gently reaching out a hand to rest tentatively on his arm.

 

She wanted to put her arms around him and hold him – but was not sure if he would allow it.

 

The simple, tender touch seemed to be more than he could take. His brittle, defensive reserve crumbled, and his shoulders sagged toward her, his head bowed, as he whispered an echo of his previous words, “I didn’t think it was going to be like this.”

 

Tara took his reaction as the invitation it was, and moved in closer to embrace him, drawing his head down to her shoulder gently. “I know,” she whispered, her tone encouraging him to go on.

 

“I thought – when she kissed me – I thought my bloody dreams were coming true,” Spike said softly. “I thought – even if she didn’t *love* me –not yet – that she would. But – but then – she was so angry – so *ashamed* to have even touched me…”

 

His voice trailed off again, and he shook his head, as Tara felt the cool moisture of his tears soak through the thin material of her blouse.

 

“She *should* be ashamed!” she retorted, her voice trembling with anger as she gently tightened her arms around him. “She should be ashamed of what she’s done to you! Not for kissing you – but for making you feel this way – for hurting you this much! Spike, you *don’t* deserve this! Can you see that?” She gently reached a hand down to raise his face from her shoulder, as she drew back slightly to meet his eyes. “You know that, right? You *don’t* deserve this!”

 

Tears streamed from the vampire’s eyes, as his telling gaze, and the way he lowered his eyes in shame after only an instant, revealed the answer to her questions.

 

“I try, Tara,” he confessed softly, earnestly, his voice halting as his tears began to choke it. “I really try – to make her happy. To please her. I do. I just – don’t understand why she – why it’s never…I can never make her happy…”

 

“Spike,” Tara persisted after a moment’s consideration, running a soothing hand through his hair. “Look at me.”

 

When he reluctantly complied, she asked him in a low, searching voice, her piercing gaze boring into his, “What would make *you* happy?”

 

Spike stared at her, momentarily bewildered, by a question that he had had little cause to consider in the past few months. He lowered his gaze, but in pensive thought this time, rather than shame, as he tried to think of the answer.

 

It did not take long to think of it – but the words did not seem to want to come out.

 

“I – I want her to – I mean – I want to – just to have *someone*…”

 

Tara tipped his chin up toward her again, meeting his eyes with a depth of warmth and kindness in her eyes that broke the last of his emotional control, as she whispered, “…to love you?”

 

Spike’s eyes widened in longing agreement, as he nodded slowly, lowering his eyes again.

 

Tara was quiet for a moment, putting her arms back around him and holding him close to her. “You deserve that, Spike,” she whispered. “You really do – you have to see that. You deserve to be loved by someone…loved like *you* love, completely – passionately…” She paused, before concluding sadly, “…I’m just not sure if she can.”


	8. Chapter 8

Over the course of the next few days, Spike and Tara spent quite a bit of time together.

 

Spike had been mostly staying in his crypt. He was more than a little nervous about venturing outside, not sure what Buffy’s reaction would be if she happened to come into contact with him – but he was pretty sure that it would *not* be good. She did not come by the crypt again during those few days – but in a way, that only made him more nervous.

 

The longer she went without seeing him, the more volatile she was likely to be when she finally *did* see him.

 

Tara understood his fears, having experienced most of them herself on some level, and did her best to help him, bringing him blood from the butcher’s and cigarettes from the corner store, to spare him having to go out and get them himself – and risk running into Buffy. She did not say it – not wanting to feed his fears – but she was also quite concerned about what Buffy might do if she somehow managed to get Spike alone.

 

Since breaking up with Willow, Tara had found that her social life was not quite what it used to be. She didn’t spend much time around the Scoobies anymore, and although there were a few people she knew fairly well from college, there was no one that she had connected with so well as to spend time with them outside of classes.

 

She had found Spike in his crypt on a Thursday night, and after staying up all night caring for him, had slept through the day instead of going to classes. Because of her lack of social obligations, it had been easy for her to spend just about the entire weekend, just hanging out with him in his crypt. The hours had passed in surprisingly easy companionship as the two of them had whiled away the hours together – watching movies part of the time, but mostly just talking.

 

Tara would never have thought that she would have so much in common with the blond vampire – but their common past experiences were only the beginning. Tara found her suspicions confirmed, as little by little, Spike let down his protective shell around her, revealing the sensitive poet’s heart that lay beneath the façade.

 

Monday morning came all too soon, and as much as she wanted to stay, Tara knew that she could not miss another day of classes.

 

The fact that Buffy had still not shown up since that first night worried her.

 

A lot.

 

She knew it was only a matter of time before the Slayer showed up at Spike’s door again – and her uncertainty about how Spike would respond to her advances made Tara feel just a little bit sick inside.

 

“Um – I get out of class at three,” she said as she headed toward the door. “But then I have to go to work until – until nine…so…um…”

 

“Would you come by?” Spike interrupted her softly, with a warm, endearing smile.

 

Tara’s heart swelled with gratitude, as she returned his smile. She had really wanted the chance to check on Spike at the end of the day – but she had not wanted to invite herself over to do it.

 

“I’d love to,” she replied, opening the crypt door.

 

She took a step outside the door, into the pre-dawn half-light – and then turned suddenly, nearly running into Spike, who had followed her to the door to close it behind her. Her eyebrows raised in an expression of mock sternness, Tara moved closer to him, catching the lapels of his black button-down shirt in her hands and looking him square in the eyes.

 

“Repeat after me,” she instructed firmly, releasing one side of his collar to touch the wooden door. “This is my door.”

 

Spike suppressed a surprised laugh, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth as he placed one hand obligingly over hers on the door, and repeated, “This is my door.”

 

“I don’t have to open it unless I want to.”

 

Spike’s expression softened slightly, his eyes widening as he realized what she was getting at, and he echoed softly, almost automatically, “I don’t have to open it unless I want to.”

 

Tara’s eyes narrowed as she nodded in satisfaction, a little smirk on her lips as she finished, “And I *won’t* open it for self-centered, abusive, bitchy Slayers, on pain of my new best friend Tara’s never buying me new sheets or renting me movies again.”

 

This time, Spike could not hold the laughter back – though before he lowered his eyes, his shoulders shaking with amusement, Tara thought she caught the slightest glint of tears shining in his eyes.

 

“I’m serious!” she insisted, her hands on his collar giving him a gentle shake, her wide eyes struggling not to contradict her words with their mirthful sparkle. “Spike – I mean it…I don’t want to worry about you all day…”

 

“I won’t let her in, love,” Spike promised, dutifully adopting a solemn expression as he met her anxious eyes.

 

“Promise.”

 

“I promise,” Spike sighed, rolling his eyes slightly before meeting hers again with an indulgent smile.

 

Tara studied his expression for a long moment, before nodding and turning to go.

 

“Bossy bint,” Spike muttered as he moved to shut the door.

 

“What was that?” Tara demanded in a playfully dark tone, raising one eyebrow in his direction over her shoulder.

 

Spike flashed her a dazzling grin through the slight opening that was left of his doorway, just before shutting the door completely. “I said, can’t wait to see you later, pet!”

 

Tara’s smirk matched his as she slowly made her way toward the cemetery entrance, calling over her shoulder, “That’s what I *thought*!”

 

***********************************

 

It was nearly six o’clock, and just shortly after sundown, when Spike first felt the signature tingles announcing her nearness.

 

His favorite show was on – he never missed a moment of *Passions* -- but his focus was shattered in an instant, when he realized that she was in the cemetery…and not just in the cemetery, but headed for his crypt.

 

Expecting her to attempt her signature entrance, and slam his door open by force, with an extreme effort Spike forced himself to stay in his seat, his wide, uncertain eyes fastened on the television screen. When she kicked the door in this time, he had no intention of allowing her to see how her very presence shook him.

 

Except – she did not kick the door in.

 

He felt her approach, knew when she stopped on his doorstep – but she made no attempt to enter the crypt. He barely had time to wonder nervously what exactly she was playing at, before he heard it…smelled it…

 

The soft sound of quiet sobs…the salt tang of her tears.

 

He froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. Buffy rarely cried these days – and never in front of him.

 

At least, not when she thought he was looking.

 

His immediate desire was to go to her, to throw the door open and bring her in with him, to take her in his arms and offer her the comfort she came to him for – the fulfillment of the need that she had told him again and again, only he could meet for her.

 

*What if she’s hurt?* he wondered with a sudden pang of fear and regret. *What if she needs my help?*

 

He did not remember rising from his chair – but suddenly, he found himself standing at the door, his ear hovering a bare inch from the wooden surface…just listening…waiting.

 

For a few long, agonizing moments, there was no sound but the desperate longing ache of the Slayer’s soft sobs. And then – in the midst of her quiet crying, he heard her speak his name – softly, uncertainly, and with a broken desperation like he had never heard in her before.

 

“Spike?”

 

He closed his eyes, steeling his jaw for a moment as he fought with himself.

 

He tried to call to mind the memory of her brutal fists, slamming into his face and shoving him into the wall, taking advantage of his injuries and her greater strength to bend him to her will – tried to picture the cold cruelty on her face as she had pinned him beneath her on the bed and forcefully manipulated his body against his will…

 

But all he could see in his mind’s eye were wide, tearful emerald eyes, shining with a hurt and vulnerability that never failed to grip his heart and draw him in – until there was nothing left of him, but her need.

 

And then, the image was no longer only in his mind’s eye, as Spike swung the door open, to see the bold and powerful Slayer, huddled on her knees on his doorstep, choking back sobs as she swiped weakly at tears with the back of her hand. She looked up at him through those huge eyes, full of such loss, such devastation – and Spike was lost to her.

 

“Buffy,” he said softly, his voice full of concern as he went to her, putting his arms around her huddled, shaking form. “Buffy, love, what is it?”

 

Trembling hands reached up to clutch weakly at his sides, as the Slayer lowered her head to his shoulder, her own shoulders shaking with sobs of sorrow and relief.

 

“Spike,” she sobbed out, her breath hitching in her throat every few words, as she struggled to get them out. “I’m sorry – I’m so sorry, Spike – please, you have to forgive me – you have to! I need you, and I never meant to – never meant to – h-hurt you! *Please* forgive me!”

 

Spike felt his own eyes well with tears, at the soft, pleading words, and her warm, gentle hands clinging to him with such need.

 

In his heart of hearts, he had clung to just such a fantasy as this – just such a fantasy as what was now reality…his Slayer, returned to him, sorry for the hurt she had caused and *needing* him, really needing him…

 

“Buffy, love, shhh,” he murmured softly, tightening his embrace around her. “It’s all right. It’s all right, love…”

 

“You must – hate me,” she sobbed out with despair in her voice as she clung to him, her eyes still buried against his shoulder, tears streaming from them to soak the black lapels which Tara had held earlier – when she had gently pulled from him the promise, not to let Buffy in tonight.

 

What she hadn’t known, was that Spike had never truly locked her out to begin with.

 

“No, Buffy,” he assured her quietly, his own voice thick with tears. “No, I don’t hate you – could never hate you, love. I *love* you, Buffy. God, Buffy, I love you so much!” he sobbed, lowering his head to rest on her shoulder. “Buffy, you’ve no bloody idea how much I love you – how much I *need* you!”

 

And just like that, the roles began to reverse, as she straightened slightly, raising her head and sniffling back her sobs, making an effort to control her shaking, as she wrapped her arms gently around him in a comforting embrace. “Shhh,” she soothed him gently, pressing gentle kisses into his hair as she rocked him slightly. “It’s okay…it’s okay, I’m here now, Spike…I’m here…”

 

“Y-you hurt me so much, Buffy!” he cried quietly in an anguished voice, without lifting his head, his hands clinging to her in desperation. “I – I didn’t know what to do – I was – so – so scared…”

 

“It’s okay,” she reassured him in a gracious whisper, accepting the implied apology in his explanation – the implied apology for locking her out of his home. “It’s okay, Spike, I understand…I’m so sorry. So sorry I hurt you, Sweetheart. Listen to me…look at me, Sweetie,” she urged him softly, pushing gently on his shoulders to get him to look at her.

 

His eyes were wide, pleading, searching for the truth behind her words as she held his gaze with a firm intensity, and vowed, “I will never -- *never* -- hurt you like that again. I promise.”

 

His gaze faltered slightly, uncertain – as he had heard those words many times before.

 

“Spike, you have to believe me!” she insisted, her tone on the verge of panic, her eyes welling with fresh tears. “Please, Baby, you’ve got to believe me, I mean it! I won’t ever hurt you again!”

 

“Buffy, I…” Spike began, shaking his head helplessly, his eyes lowered in confusion and pain. “I can’t…I mean…I *want* to believe it…I want to believe *you*…”

 

“You *can* believe me!” she whispered passionately, reaching down to tilt his chin up toward her in an effort to make him meet her gaze. “Spike, you have to know I’ll *never* do that again! I wouldn’t – I – I love you!”

 

Spike’s eyes shot up to lock onto hers, wide and startled – and wildly hopeful.

 

“Y-you…?” he echoed weakly.

 

“Spike, I love you – I know I do,” Buffy sobbed softly, lowering her head as tears streaked her cheeks. “I – I’ve been lying to myself – you were right – but – being without you – being – shut out of your life – it helped me to see…” She looked up at him, eyes shining with hope and affection. “…and I *need* you, Spike. I love you. I really love you…”

 

Spike was momentarily speechless, his heart torn between the desperate hope he had clung to for the past two years – and the dark truth of reality that still nagged at the edges of his emotions, warning him to caution.

 

“Buffy, I – I need…” he fumbled, uncertain what it was that he needed, as he pulled back away from her, his eyes downcast. “I need to – to think…”

 

Buffy clung to him, pulling him back toward her. “Spike, wait!”

 

“No, Buffy, let me go,” he whispered, shaking his head as he tried again to pull away from her and struggle to his feet.

 

Her greater strength prevented him, as she held him down on the ground with her, intent on her goal of making him accept her words. “Spike, listen to me! Don’t you believe me? Don’t you want…”

 

“I *want* you to let me go!” he cried out, his voice shaking dangerously with a mixture of fear, and a hundred other nameless emotions evoked by her sudden, unexpected confession.

 

Buffy froze, but did not loosen her grip.

 

Spike swallowed hard, his eyes closed for a moment, before he met her gaze with a firm, wary determination in his own. “Buffy,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly, “Buffy, love – if you ever expect me to – to believe you – you have to let me go…”

 

Buffy stared at him for a long moment, the wild need fading slightly from her eyes as his words sank in.

 

And then – she let him go.

 

She drew her hands back against her own chest, her gaze lowered to the ground, as Spike scrambled to rise on shaking legs, backpedaling a couple of hurried steps back through his own doorway. He stood there for a moment, gasping for breath, trying to regain control over his wildly careening feelings.

 

Buffy rose slowly to her feet, without looking at him – defeat in every subtle nuance of her stance.

 

“I – I’ll go,” she whispered after a moment. “I understand you – you need time. It’s not the kind of thing you just – get over. I – I’ll leave you alone.”

 

And she turned to walk away.

 

Spike stared after her, his heart crying out to hers, longing to draw her in – but terrified to. In that moment, when she had ignored his words, and held him back, restraining him and once again holding him to her desires rather than his own – a sort of panic had filled him, reminding him of why she was locked out of his crypt to begin with.

 

But then – she had let him go.

 

And that was something that Buffy had never done before – ever.

 

If she wanted something from him – she took it. Period.

 

Until now.

 

*She means it,* his heart sang with a wild, hopeful excitement. *She must mean it! She said she loves you – and she means it!*

 

And in the next moment, the words slipped from his mouth, before he could think twice – and before the Slayer had gone far enough to keep her from hearing them.

 

“Come in, Buffy,” he whispered in a trembling, longing voice. “Please come in.”


	9. Chapter 9

  
  


Buffy swept around in her tracks and straight through Spike's open crypt door, in one smooth, fluid motion. Her eager hands found his hips as her mouth fell on his in a hungry, consuming kiss.

 

Spike could do nothing but respond to her, wrapping his arms around her body and pulling her close to him, drinking in her nearness and affection like the love-starved creature that he was. His fears, his uncertainties, melted away in the heat of her embrace, the familiar, enticing taste of her kiss, until he could not remember why he had felt the need to keep her out in the first place.

 

Somehow they made it down the ladder to his bedroom, without ever totally losing physical contact with each other. Her hands were greedily exploring his body, as if for the first time - re-memorizing it, after their brief, and yet somehow interminable, separation. The feeling of her heated touch on his cool, needy skin was enough to drive him wild with his need for her, driving out all other thoughts form his mind but her, and what she was doing to him in that moment.

 

"I missed you so much!" she gasped out against his throat, between feverishly paced, desperate kisses. "God, Spike - I never want to be apart again! Please - don't ever shut me out..."

 

"I won't," he whispered breathlessly, fervently, his eyes closed, as she pushed him down on the bed under her. "Won't ever, Buffy...I'm so sorry..."

 

He felt a momentary twinge of uncertainty, when she closed her hands around his wrists, drawing them up to meet over his head. "Buffy..." he breathed out, meeting her eyes with just the barest flash of fear, "...please..."

 

"Shhh," she soothed him with a reassuring smile, for once devoid of any secret menace, as she released his wrists, once she had positioned them where she wanted them. "Just trust me, Sweetheart - just be still...and let me show you how much I love you."

 

As her expert hands and mouth slowly worked over his willing, needy body, Spike obediently kept his hands where she had placed them, relieved and infinitely grateful that for tonight, the Slayer had chosen to pass on the usual chains that had become such a common part of their frequent interludes.

 

And within moments, her touch had set a quiver of need and desire through his entire being, shaking and breaking apart his apprehensive thoughts, until they were nothing more than random words that made no sense, echoing weakly through his mind. For a few brief instants he tried to gather his thoughts again - vaguely aware that there was something he should not be forgetting - something he had to remember...

 

But then, Buffy's mouth found the aching evidence of his need for her - and the capacity for thought left him, and Spike stopped trying to remember what it was that he had been thinking.

 

In that moment, there was nothing but *her* -- and she was all that he wanted.

 

******************************************

 

That evening was the best that they had spent since they had started seeing each other, as far as Spike was concerned. He had never once had Buffy be so sweet, so tender with him, so attentive to *his* needs and desires. When he attempted to return the favor, to cherish her body with his own hands, she would not even allow it, pushing his hands gently back down to the mattress and shaking her head with a soft smile.

 

"No," she insisted softly. "Just let me touch *you*, Spike...this night is all about you."

 

His throat felt thick and constricted, as his eyes had welled with tears, at the tender sentiment. Relief had overwhelmed him, combined with a sense of joy like nothing he had ever felt with Buffy before, to think how much she cared for him, that she was willing to focus so completely on him and his pleasure - and he had yielded to her willingly, allowing her to do whatever she wanted to his body...which, for tonight, seemed to be whatever *he* wanted.

 

It never once occurred to him to think of the behavior as just another sign of her desire for control.

 

He wore no physical chains - but he was still bound to her will.

 

Several hours later, the two of them lay tangled in the smooth, clean sheets of his bed, still and sated and utterly exhausted. Buffy was resting her head on his chest, occasionally lifting it slightly to place a tender kiss against his cool, sweat-dampened skin.

 

"I'm so glad you forgave me, Baby," she murmured softly, as she laid her head back down, smiling as he raised cautious fingers to play gently through the ends of her golden hair. "Mmm...that feels good..." As he responded to her encouragement by increasing the pressure of his touch, drawing his fingers through the golden strands from her scalp to the ends, Buffy added sleepily, "...I don't know what I'd do without you, Spike...I love you so much..."

 

"I love you too, Buffy...you know I do," he whispered in a voice thick with emotion, barely able to get the words out for his choking tears of disbelieving joy.

 

A moment of silence passed between them, before Buffy raised her head, tilting it slightly as a puzzled frown creased her brow. She looked at him with mild curiosity as she asked, "Are these new sheets?" looking back down as she ran her fingers along the soft, luxurious black fabric.

 

*Bugger. *Tara*!*

 

Spike's eyes widened slightly in a trapped expression - thankfully, while she was looking down at the bed - as he suddenly remembered that Tara was planning on coming by the crypt when she got off work that evening. He glanced at the clock beside his bed, and noted that it was 8:45.

 

Tara would not arrive any later than 9:15.

 

"Yeah, pet," he barely remembered to reply to the Slayer's question, keeping his voice calm and casual. "Just - felt like a change."

 

"I like them," Buffy remarked with a suggestive smile as she looked back up at him. "Very sexy..."

 

He could tell by the look in her eyes that she was ready to go again - and if they did, he knew that Tara would likely arrive before they were finished.

 

His jealous, possessive lover would become aware of his developing friendship with the blonde witch - and Tara would become aware that he had broken his promise to her, not to allow Buffy back into his crypt.

 

And if that happened - he would be dust.

 

The only question was, at the hand of which woman?

 

He forced a slight smirk to his lips as he met her eyes with his own narrowed lazily. "Just like you, love," he agreed with a slight nod. He ran his fingers through her hair again as he laid his head back on the dark pillows, closing his eyes and sighing wearily, "Sexy enough to make me wish I had just a bit *more* vampire stamina, yeah? But I've got to say, love - you've bloody well worn me out tonight."

 

He spoke the words casually - as if he had not noticed that she was about to attempt to entice him to more - and his ruse seemed to work. Although his eyes were closed, he could almost visualize the pretty pout that would be on her lips about then, just before she sighed in resignation.

 

But then, he felt her body rising up over him, her hands resting on his shoulders, and he opened his eyes to meet hers, struggling to keep the rising panic he felt from showing in them.

 

There was no way to reach Tara before she got here.

 

If he couldn't get Buffy out of here in the next twenty minutes...

 

"Oh, well," Buffy shrugged, giving him a glimpse of her trademark pout, her eyes sparkling with warmth and affection as she leaned down to give him a slow, thorough kiss. "Guess I'll just have to wait."

 

And with those words, she pulled back, standing up off the bed reluctantly and beginning to look for her clothes.

 

"I told Dawn I'd try to come home early tonight from patrolling anyway," Buffy went on, her back turned to him. "So I guess I ought to go home and spend some time with her. The poor kid hardly sees me anymore these days."

 

Spike let out a silent sigh of relief behind her back, then put on an understanding smile as she turned to face him. "Guess *she* hasn't minded these past few days, then, has she, love?" he remarked thoughtfully.

 

"No," Buffy agreed, shaking her head. "I guess - I guess I need to spend a little more time at home..."

 

Spike nodded encouragingly, his mind racing with the implications of her words. "Yeah - the Niblet needs you, love. Don't wanna neglect her."

 

He was grateful and relieved that things had worked out so well between them - but that did not mean that he wanted to give up the brand new friendship he had just made.

 

It might not be such a bad idea for Buffy to spend more time with Dawn, if it would mean allowing him some time to spend with Tara on occasion. He already had decided that there was no way he could allow either woman to become aware that the other had a place in his life - and Buffy's keeping a *little* more distance might just serve to help that plan along.

 

By the time Tara arrive fifteen minutes later, Buffy had been gone for about ten - and Spike had just managed to make up the bed and get himself cleaned up and dressed. He hastily lit a few candles, hoping to dispel any lingering scent that might remain from his and the Slayer's coupling - grateful that Tara did not have the benefit of the acute sense of smell that he had.

 

Finally, he made his way up the ladder, deciding that just in case, he would attempt to keep their visit upstairs tonight - just as he heard the soft knock on his crypt door that heralded Tara's arrival.

 

She didn't suspect a thing. In fact, she seemed very pleased and relieved to find him in such good spirits.

 

It actually made him feel a little bit guilty.

 

But he did not feel guilty enough to tell her the truth about how he had spent his evening. Tara was a friend - and quickly becoming his *closest* friend - but after her vehement words against the Slayer and the way she had treated him in the past, Spike knew that there was no way that she would approve of his taking Buffy back, no matter how hard he tried to explain it.

 

He had seen the tears on the Slayer's face - experienced the rare tenderness she had lavished on him this night -- *knew* that she meant her words, that she genuinely wanted to change. Tara had not seen any of that, however; all she had seen were the terrible injuries that Buffy had inflicted on his body the last time they had been together.

 

There was no way that Tara would ever understand.

 

And for the next few weeks, his efforts to keep it from her succeeded - as did his efforts to keep his friendship with Tara from Buffy's knowledge.

 

Buffy's work schedule kept her busy during the days, and her new determination to spend time with her little sister kept her busy during the evenings as well. She would usually see him when she had finished patrolling, late at night, after Dawn had gone to bed.   
Sometimes, he would patrol with her.

 

Tara had classes during the morning, but usually came to see him during the afternoons, when she knew that the sunlight would keep him crypt-bound, and he would be likely to be bored and lonely. Because of her early class schedule, she didn't usually like to be out late, so she would be long gone by the time Buffy came out to patrol.

 

The only difficult times so far had been weekends, when Tara had much more free time to spend - but so far, Spike had managed to balance the two relationships fairly well, with neither girl getting a hint as to the other's presence in his life.

 

Buffy had kept to her word to try to change things between them, and had not once struck out at him in anger. She *had* re-initiated the use of the shackles on his bedposts - once he had hesitantly agreed to it - but she had not once taken advantage of his vulnerability during those times.

 

If he had asked her to stop - he knew that she would have stopped.

 

But he hadn't felt the need to ask her to stop.

 

Things seemed to be going very well between them, and Spike began to consider the idea of letting the secret out - at least to Tara. With nearly three full weeks having passed without Buffy leaving a single mark on him, perhaps she would see the evidence that the Slayer had really changed, and not be *too* angry at him for letting her back in...or for keeping the secret for so long...

 

Well...perhaps that was a bit much to hope for...

 

But he knew that Tara cared about him, and even if she was initially angry, she would get over it and accept it. He was beginning to think he could make her understand.

 

Buffy, on the other hand - he was not so sure about.

 

He wanted to tell her about his friendship with Tara - but that might mean explaining the circumstances under which it had formed. And he was still not sure how Buffy might react to the fact that someone else knew about the negative history between them - or to the fact that someone else knew about them *at all*.

 

Still - he was beginning to wonder if she might not take it so badly after all.

 

She hadn't hit him in weeks, and she seemed genuinely repentant for the times when she had in the past. And, if she was genuinely sorry and determined to change - surely she would not lash out at him when he finally told her the truth...would she?

 

There was still a bit of uncertainty in Spike's heart as to that question, try as he might to quell his secret, lingering fears.

 

And exactly three weeks after he had invited Buffy back in - before he could tell either secret to either girl - those secret fears became reality once more.


	10. Chapter 10

I hope it's not driving people away, since not as many people seemed to check out the last chapter *bites nails* it may just be a bit too dark for some tastes, but I hope everyone is still enjoying the fic :)  
  
Anyway, here's chapter 10  
  
Chapter 10  
Liar  
  
  


Spike could not remember the last time he had hurt so badly.

Well – actually he could.

It had been three weeks ago, the last time Buffy had beaten him, so badly that he had barely been able to move on his own, and every part of him had hurt, and he had seriously wondered if death and the certain hell to follow might be easier than the way he felt.

He felt that way now – except – Buffy had not done this.

And his legs were not broken this time – that was a plus.

He had made his way through the tunnels of Sunnydale’s sewer system to the butcher’s shop that afternoon. There was an alley entrance to the shop, and he could usually move freely between there and his crypt, without running the risk of fatal sunlight exposure.

He had failed to consider the possibility of near-fatal Groglax demon exposure.

The thing had been huge, twice his size and three times as strong as he was. Spike’s only advantage had been that he was much faster than the enormous, lumbering beast – until he had taken a wrong turn in the tunnels, and found himself backed into a corner – and without any advantages at all.

The only thing that had saved his life, ironically, was the fact that he was already dead.

After a few extremely damaging blows from the thing’s huge, clawed limbs, Spike had taken a blinding swipe from its massive fist that had left him lying unconscious in the filth of the sewer.

When he had awakened – the Groglax was gone.

Remembering what little he knew of the species, he thought that he was actually quite fortunate that the Groglax preferred to eat their prey while it was still alive. The foul beast had probably thought that it had been just a bit overzealous in its attack, accidentally killing the blond man, and rendering him not nearly as appetizing as he would have been alive.

Struggling to his feet, Spike had made his way slowly and painfully the remaining distance to his own crypt. He was swiftly losing blood from a deep gash across his back – which also made it very difficult to move very quickly, without nearly passing out from the pain.

Somehow, he managed to make it home, and through the hidden entrance that led from the tunnels into his own bedroom – where he came face to face with a very concerned, alarmed Tara.

"Oh, my God, Spike!" she gasped when she saw the terrible condition he was in, rising from where she was seated on the edge of his bed and rushing to help him, just before he would have collapsed to the floor. "What happened?"

"Tangled with a Groglax demon in the sewer," he explained in a weak, shaky voice of pain and exhaustion. "Barely escaped with my bloody unlife, too!"

Tara said nothing else as she carefully helped him to his bed, and then left his side to go to the bathroom and gather the first aid supplies -- in a scene that was strikingly reminiscent of the one they had played out a few weeks earlier.

To Tara, the resemblance seemed a bit *too* striking.

Spike was too exhausted and distracted by the pain of his injuries to notice her unusual and almost total silence, as she returned to his side and gently helped him out of his tattered black t-shirt. He was nearly too weak to move, but he did his best to cooperate as she tended to the more minor wounds on his chest and stomach, and then helped him to roll over onto his stomach so that she could deal with the deep gash across his lower back.

By the time she was about half through, Spike began to notice a certain strangeness in her manner, and her vaguely unsettling silence.

"Love," he murmured softly into his pillow, not really feeling the energy to even raise his head at the moment. "You all right?"

"Mm-hmm," she murmured in a slightly false tone that was even more disconcerting.

Spike waited until she had finished with his back, and helped him to roll over into a more comfortable position, before glancing surreptitiously at her face out of the corner of his eye, trying to get some sort of idea of why she was acting so strangely. Her calm, yet slightly detached expression yielded no clue, especially as she seemed intent on not meeting his gaze.

"Tara?" he asked softly after a moment, his uncertainty creeping into his voice. "Is there something...?"

"How long have you been seeing her again, Spike?"

The unexpectedly sharp tone of her voice, and the accusing fire in her soft gray eyes made him flinch slightly, his eyes widening with stunned -- trapped -- surprise.

"I -- what makes you think..."

"Oh, come on, Spike!" Tara objected, her emotions rising in her voice as she stood up from the bed, walking a few steps away from him and stopping with her back turned, her head lowered and shaking slightly. She suddenly whirled around to face him, her eyes anguished and tear-filled. "You already tried the demon fighting story, Spike -- the last time you came home barely able to move! And remember who the 'demon' was that time?"

Some part of Spike knew that he really had no reason to be angry. She had come to the correct conclusion -- he *was* back together with Buffy -- even if the path her logic had taken to get there was not exactly accurate.

Still, his mind seized on the one fact in his favor -- his injuries really *were* from a fight with a demon -- and he felt his temper rising as he rose from the bed with an effort to face her.

"Well excuse me, pet, but it'd do you well to remember I'm more than just the Slayer's little pet victim! I *do* happen to fight demons on a bloody regular basis!" Spike reminded her angrily, stalking toward her until he was right in her face. "And the Slayer might be partial to leaving claw marks, but I don't think she's ever left any as deep as these!"

Tara flinched slightly this time at his painfully frank words, and though her jaw was still set stubbornly, there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes -- and just the slightest bit of hurt, at his harsh tone.

It was enough to soften it immediately.

Spike sighed wearily, shaking his head before he met her gaze again. "Look, love -- I'm telling you the truth, all right? Buffy didn't do this. I really did get in a fight with a Groglax demon. Honest. All right?"

Tara studied his expression for a long moment, until she saw what it was she was looking for there -- confirmation that his words were true.

If only technically.

She sighed, relenting, moving to the bed and sitting down on the edge with her head in her hands. “I’m sorry, Spike,” she said after a moment, looking up at him with regret in her eyes. “I’m really sorry. I just -- I shouldn’t have assumed that…I mean…I just -- jumped to conclusions, and I’m really sorry.”

Suddenly, Spike’s indignation faded away, replaced with an uncomfortable sensation of guilt, at her heartfelt apology for jumping to a conclusion that was actually wholly correct.

“Don’t worry about it, love…”

“No -- it wasn’t fair of me to just assume that you were back with Buffy, just because you got hurt. I mean -- I’ve seen you get hurt dozens of times when Buffy -- wasn’t even around.” Tara’s awkward catch did not really disguise what she had meant.

*When Buffy was dead…*

*Can’t lose her again, *can’t* -- nearly bloody killed me the first time…no matter what…*

Tara continued softly, “And -- even if you were seeing her again -- it’s not my business to come in here guns blazing and verbally kick your bum for it, you know?” She winced slightly at her own presumption, as she looked up to meet his eyes apologetically. “I mean -- I can’t say I’d be happy -- you’re my friend, and I want you to be safe, Spike -- but -- it’s not exactly my place to…”

“No, Tara,” Spike cut her off quickly, moving to the bed to sit down at her side, taking one of her hands in his in a comforting gesture. “No, love, it’s all right -- I -- I appreciate the fact that you care so bloody much…”

He hesitated, looking down at their joined hands and swallowing hard, fighting back that uncomfortable feeling -- that feeling that was trying to drive him to tell her things that he knew he could never tell anyone.

“…that you -- that you care at *all*…” he amended softly, unable to raise his eyes to meet her gaze.

“Spike -- of course I care,” Tara said softly, turning toward him with concern in her gentle eyes, as they sought his averted gaze. She frowned when she noticed his obvious discomfort with something about the situation, and reached out a hand to lift his face toward hers. “Spike…what’s the matter…?”

Before her hand could make contact, they both heard a sound that in an instant, changed everything.

The crypt door swung open upstairs.

Spike flinched slightly, a gesture that would have appeared to the casual observer to be a reaction to Tara’s attempt to touch him.

But it wasn’t.

Spike’s wide, panicked eyes darted to his clock, noting that it was the time of the evening when Buffy usually came to see him. In the chaos of the evening, the pain and exhaustion of his injuries, Spike had not even considered the fact that Buffy would likely be by to see him, had made no attempt to get Tara to leave before she arrived.

“Hi, honey,” the Slayer’s playful voice echoed down the ladder into his bedroom. “I’m home.”

Buffy had not hit Spike once since her promise not to hurt him anymore -- but Spike was secretly not sure how long that promise would hold, if she found him with Tara here in his bedroom.

His fearful eyes suddenly locked onto those of the blonde -- and he was struck by the confusion, and dawning betrayal, he saw in her wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Tara,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Wait…”

She shook her head in denial, rising from the bed. “You lied to me.”

Spike’s expression was as if she had struck him. “No,” he objected in surprise. “No, I…”

“You sat here -- and you lied to me,” Tara repeated, backing away from him as if he were a particularly dangerous-looking stranger.

“Tara, I -- I never said…” he began weakly, breaking eye contact as he realized the thin, useless nature of his explanation. In a hurried whisper, he tried another desperate tack, hoping she would understand. “Tara, she’s changed! She’s promised things would be different, and they *have* been different, and she really loves me, Tara! I’ll explain it all to you -- but I’ll explain it later, yeah, because right now…”

“Spike?” Buffy called down the ladder from upstairs. “Are you here?”

Spike’s eyes darted to the ladder with a wild, panicked look, before he met Tara’s gaze again.

Her eyes were suddenly full of understanding, as she glanced back up the ladder, and then looked him in the eye again, her eyes piercing and knowing in a way that made him look away again.

“If you’re so sure she’s changed,” Tara whispered, shaking her head. “If everything’s so different -- then why are you still scared to death of what she’ll do if she finds me here?”

“I-I’m not,” Spike attempted to deny it, though he knew he was not the least bit convincingly. He heard Buffy‘s footstep on the top rung of the ladder, and whispered breathlessly, “Tara -- Tara, please…”

“I’m gone,” she replied in a whisper that was barely above a breath, moving swiftly and silently toward the hidden exit. “Don’t worry.”

Spike flinched from the anger in her voice, and then followed her to the exit. “Tara…please don’t be…”

But she was already gone, disappeared down the tunnel that led through the sewers and across town.

Spike was sick with guilt and worry and fear -- guilt because he knew that whether or not the words he had spoken had technically been true, he *had* lied to her; worry, because he had no idea how she even knew her way through those tunnels, and now had her safety to worry about on top of it all; and fear, because there was still a good chance that Buffy might have overheard their conversation -- and if she *did* lose it tonight -- if Tara *was* right -- he was going to be completely alone in dealing with the consequences.

When he turned back toward the ladder, Buffy was just placing her foot on the floor and turning around to face him, a bright smile on her lips.

“Hey, Baby,” she said softly, a slight frown on her lips as she glanced around the room. “Was -- someone just here?”

“No,” Spike answered immediately. “Telly.”

“Oh.” Buffy nodded with a warm smile, moving toward him to put her arms around him and press a tender, intimate kiss to his mouth.

Spike responded automatically, though he knew his lips were trembling, and he could feel a deep tremor within him, though he wasn’t sure if she could feel his body shaking under her touch, or not. She drew back, giving him a warm smile -- which slowly faded as she noted his strained, tense manner, and the dark bruise that marred the left side of his face.

“Spike -- what happened, Baby?” she asked with what sounded like genuine concern, raising a hand to gently turn his face, giving her a better view of the dark bruise on his cheek.

“I -- I got in a fight on my way home from the butcher’s,” he told her, his voice soft and barely controlled, low to disguise its trembling. “It’s all right, love…I’m just a bit…sore is all…”

Buffy’s expression softened in sympathy, as she stood back, looking him over in protective concern. “Are you okay? How bad are you hurt?” she asked, glancing down at the well-placed bandage on his lower stomach, and then across at the wide one covering the deep gash in his right arm.

“I’m all right,” he repeated, forcing a tired smile. “I got it pretty well taken care of already. Nothing a bit of blood won’t cure.”

Frowning critically, Buffy gently took his arm and turned him around, looking for further injuries -- and finding the large bandage across his lower back. “How bad is this?” she asked softly, barely touching the spot with the flat of her hand.

“Not too bad. It’s taken care of now.” Spike swallowed hard, fighting back his rising sense of apprehension -- the dark certainty deep within him that somehow, she was going to figure out the secret of his friendship with Tara.

And then -- all hell would break loose.

Finally satisfied with her inspection of his injuries, Buffy turned him back around to face her, and met his eyes again with a warm smile. “I’m glad you’re okay, Sweetie,” she murmured, leaning in for another, gentler kiss.

Relieved, Spike yielded to the kiss, thinking how very close this whole situation could have come to utter disaster. Buffy’s hands glided up and down his sides as she walked him slowly back toward the wall, until his back was against it; and she deepened the kiss, moving her hands to his shoulders, and trailing them slowly down to his wrists.

He was not surprised when she guided his hands behind his back, pinning them there with one of her own -- Buffy always had enjoyed her little bondage games -- but he *was* a bit concerned, aware of the discomfort that such a position might cause him on this particular night, with his back so damaged as it was.

“Buffy,” he whispered, his voice thick and his thoughts clouded by their intimate contact. “Wait…”

Before he could get another word out -- everything had changed.

As one of her hands held his behind his back, Buffy’s other hand at Spike’s hip suddenly slammed him forcefully back -- jamming the doubled fist of his restrained hands directly against the fresh, sensitive wound on his back.

Spike could not even cry out, the pain was so severe, and was left gasping for breath that would not come, as Buffy leaned in close to his ear with a cold, threatening smile.

“Either your coordination’s a lot better than I thought it was,” she whispered against his skin, “since that bandage on your back seems to be in a pretty awkward spot -- or you lied to me.”

Her hand on his hip pressed just slightly harder, eliciting a soft, pleading moan of pain from Spike’s lips, as she pulled back to meet his eyes and smirked, though her eyes were full of a deadly, accusing anger.

“And I’m thinking it’s option number two,” she informed him softly, releasing her hold on his wrists, now that they were pinned firmly between his injured back and the wall, to press her hand gently but firmly over his mouth, stifling the sound of his pain, as she added in a voice of deadly menace,  
  
“And I *hate* being lied to.”


	11. Chapter 11

“You know better than to lie to me, Spike!” Buffy snarled in the blond vampire’s face, raising her hand from his lips in preparation to strike.

“Buffy, please…!”

The plea was shattered by the impact of her fist against his mouth, slamming his head back hard against the wall behind him, and dizzying him until his thoughts were nothing more than a meaningless blur in his mind.

“Shut up!” the Slayer demanded, pulling him forward by the top edge of his jeans -- no doubt only in preparation to slam him back against the wall again, inflicting greater pain on his injured back.

Before she could, Spike used the momentary freedom to bring his arms back around in front of him, though there was little he could do before she finished the motion, shoving him forcefully back and getting right up in his face, her eyes narrowed in menace.

“Who is she, Spike?” she sneered, her voice trembling, her eyes glittering with jealous rage. “Who was in here that you’re so desperate to hide from me?”

“N-no one,” Spike gasped out, his hands raised between them in a cautious effort to fend her off a little. “Buffy, I swear it…”

This time when she lowered her fist toward his face again, Spike held up his undamaged right arm, blocking the blow, and pushing her back away from him when her fist connected. Buffy took a couple of stumbling steps backward, before regaining her balance and looking up at him in incredulous shock -- and rising fury.

“Buffy,” Spike began hurriedly, edging away from the wall just a little, and along it toward the ladder. “Buffy, love -- calm down…please, love…”

His mind was racing, desperately seeking a means of diffusing -- or at least surviving -- this situation. The Slayer was clearly furious, and getting angrier by the moment -- and he had the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that any attempt at defending himself, in his weakened, injured state, would only result in further inciting her temper.

Too bad he hadn't thought of that possibility until after he'd already made such an attempt.

“I’m calm, Spike,” Buffy said in a soft, dangerous voice that was infinitely more terrifying than her louder tones of moments before. “I’m perfectly calm. I just think we need to talk this out…figure out why it is that you feel the need to keep secrets from me -- to *lie* to me!”

Spike felt his already faltering courage wilt further under the subtle menace in her tone, and he swallowed hard, feeling that deep tremor in his chest intensifying, even as he edged toward the ladder, and the slim possibility of escape.

Fortunately so far, Buffy did not seem to have noticed his gradual movements in that direction.

“Please, Buffy,” he repeated in a soft, submissive voice designed to placate her, his head lowered, unable to meet her eyes. “Please, love, I -- I’m sorry…please don’t…”

“Don’t what, Sweetheart?” Buffy asked in a deceptively gentle voice, gliding slowly toward him, and swiftly cutting off his escape with a casual hand against the wall beside him, between him and the ladder -- hemming him in. “What are you so afraid of -- if you haven‘t done anything wrong?” As she spoke, she raised her free hand to lightly run the backs of her fingers down his cheek.

Spike flinched, closing his eyes for a moment as the only words that filled his mind left his lips in a desperate, pleading whisper. “Buffy, please…you promised…you said you wouldn’t…”

The words broke off in a cry of anguish as her free hand lashed out and locked onto his injured left arm with a cruel grip -- deliberately seeking out the bandaged, injured part and twisting it hard. Spike’s knees weakened beneath him with the pain, and he leaned back against the wall, gasping for breath, as Buffy took advantage by moving into the space he had vacated, filling his personal space with her oppressive presence, and leaving him utterly trapped.

“That was before you lied to me,” she hissed in his ear, twisting his arm harder.

Spike nearly collapsed, a soft moan of pain escaping him, as Buffy took advantage of the weakness her own torment had created, and gripped his good arm as well, guiding him slowly sideways along the wall, until they had reached the ladder.

Spike struggled to focus, his heart filled with apprehension, having no idea what she had in mind. All he knew was that the last time he had seen that cold, frightening glint in her eyes -- she had nearly killed him. And he was beginning to fear that this time -- maybe she actually would.

The words would barely come as he struggled to ask her, “Wh-what…Buffy, please…what are you…?”

“Shhh,” she mockingly soothed him, but he could hear the order behind the words as she pushed him back so that the rungs of the almost completely vertical ladder were pressed against his back. “I thought you wanted to go this way -- didn’t you? Isn't this the way you were headed?”

Panic filled Spike as he felt the rough surface of the wood against his injury, through the damaged tatters of the bandage that Tara had lovingly placed on his back -- and that Buffy’s abuse had already nearly destroyed.

“Buffy, no!” he pleaded, his voice shaking dangerously, his body trembling as he weakly tried to push away from the ladder. “Please, don’t! No…”

“First things first, Sweetheart,” Buffy smiled disarmingly at him, though her eyes were cold and angry. Without warning, she placed a hand at his waist and shoved him backward, so that the ladder rung behind him dug into his open, now freshly bleeding wound. As he stifled an agonized cry of pain, she leaned in close to him, gripping his hair and yanking his head back against an upper rung of the ladder as she snarled close to his ear, “You do *not* fight me! Do you understand? Do *not* fight me!”

“Okay, okay, please!” Spike stammered, his words fast and desperate and terrified. “Buffy, please, I’m sorry, I won’t, please, whatever you say…whatever you say…”

“Okay,” Buffy nodded, her voice soft and soothing, though he knew better than to expect that the worst was over. “What I say, then…is for you to turn around and face the ladder, Baby.”

Spike hesitated, painfully aware of how much better access to his injuries that would give her -- momentarily considering pretending to obey her, and then making a run for it up the ladder -- but he knew that she was as fast as he was at his best…and tonight, he was anything but at his best.

Besides, he had tried to get away the last time she had played this little game -- and she had caught him -- and she had punished him.

And he had no desire to go through that sort of punishment again.

“Please, Buffy,” he whispered, turning slowly to face the ladder, his white knuckles gripping the sides of it with shaking hands. “Please, Buffy…don’t…don’t do this, love…”

Buffy giggled -- a disconcerting sound, considering the circumstances -- as she reached her arms around him and unbuckled his belt, then deftly slid it out of the loops of his jeans…an action which started a sick feeling in Spike's stomach, as he felt the leather slide across his middle. Then, to his humiliation and greater terror, she rested her hands at his hips, and slowly slid the jeans down around his thighs, baring the bruised flesh of his buttocks to her eyes -- and her every sadistic whim.

“But you don’t even know what I’m doing yet, Baby,” she reminded him with false surprise. “Don’t do what?”

Spike could not respond by this point, terror running rampant through his mind, stealing his concentration, every coherent thought, until there was nothing but a panicked, trapped sensation of helpless fear.

“Now that we’ve established our first rule,” Buffy went on, as calmly as a teacher addressing her grade school class, “you do what I tell you to do, without fighting me -- let’s talk about rule number two. Are you listening, Spike?” Her voice was suddenly sharp as she asked the question, moving in closer to him and brushing the rough leather of the belt idly across the ragged bandage on his lower back.

He nodded rapidly, his breath coming in rapid, sobbing gasps, unable to form words to answer her -- and hoping that the gesture would be enough for her.

Apparently it was, for the moment.

“Good,” she went on. “Rule number two is -- I'm going to ask you a few questions...and you're going to answer me. And you're *not* going to lie to me," she murmured, leaning in close behind him and running her fingers gently but possessively through his hair, pulling slightly at the ends as she whispered, "Are you, Sweetie?"

Spike shook his head, swallowing convulsively as she released him and stepped back, and he found himself leaning forward against the ladder for support, trying to gather his thoughts enough to think of some way out of this.

Refusing her would have been foolish, and futile, as at the moment she had every physical advantage over him. No matter how hard he fought, in the end the results would be the same -- Buffy would win. The only variable was the fact that the more he fought, the worse it would probably go for him.

"Good," Buffy smiled with satisfaction at his submission, before she stepped back away from him a bit, running the leather of his belt through her hands idly. Without a moment’s hesitation, she demanded softly, “Were you alone down here a few minutes ago?”

Spike hesitated, panic seizing him at the thought of how Buffy would react when she found out about his friendship with Tara.

Of course, her *not* finding out had not exactly gone any better for him.

While he was debating, the belt came down, hard, across the backs of his thighs, eliciting a yelp of pain as he gripped the sides of the ladder, falling forward against it and biting his lip to keep from crying out any louder.

“Answer me,” the Slayer warned him in a dark, menacing voice.

As Spike heard the belt being drawn back for a second blow, he quickly responded, “*No*! No, I wasn’t alone!”

Buffy was silent for a moment, lowering the belt slightly with a satisfied smile. “Good,” she replied with a nod. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Who was down here with you, Sweetheart?”

He knew better than to hesitate -- he really did. But he suddenly found himself faced with a new dilemma. He knew that he would be placing himself in great danger to reveal his friendship with Tara, and most likely effectively bringing an end to the friendship, if Buffy had her way about it. But *not* revealing it would certainly be worse for him.

But -- which would be worse for *Tara*?

Surely Buffy would not hurt *her* -- would she?

The first blow with the belt had fallen across his legs, and driven him off balance.

The second fell directly across the wound on his back -- and nearly took his consciousness with the agony of it.

Spike collapsed forward, only the rungs of the ladder in front of him keeping him from falling to his knees completely. As he clung to the ladder and struggled to pull himself upright again, Buffy moved in swiftly, gripping his hair and yanking his head back close to hers.

“Are you going to answer me, or not, Sweetheart? Come on, now, don’t make me *really* hurt you!” she sneered.

*She wouldn’t hurt her -- surely she wouldn’t -- not if -- not if she doesn’t think Tara knows…*

Through his pain and terror, he somehow managed to form a clear thought, as the solution suddenly dawned on him -- just enough truth to appease Buffy, but not enough to leave Tara in any actual danger.

“Tara,” he whispered softly, leaning his head forward against the ladder as she released her grip on his hair. “Please, Buffy -- it was just Tara.”

“Tara?” Buffy seemed to have expected something else. She frowned in confusion, and asked, “What was *she* doing here?”

“Sh-she was actually -- looking for the Niblet,” he made the story up as he went along, desperately hoping it would be convincing. “She -- said she went by the house and she wasn’t there, and she thought maybe she would have c-come here…” He paused for breath, still not recovered from the pain of the blows Buffy had already dealt him. “When she got here, and found me -- after my little tangle with the demon in the sewer -- she felt bad for me. She’s a good bird, Glinda is. She -- she wanted to help me get patched up, yeah? That’s all, Buffy. I swear to you that’s all.” At the end of his explanation, his voice took on a pleading note, breaking slightly as his desperation for her to believe him nearly overcame him.

Buffy was silent for a long moment, considering.

“If that’s all that happened,” she said softly, edging in nearer to him, dangling the belt from her hand in such a way that the buckle trailed lightly across the top of the bandage on Spike’s back, “then why did you feel the need to lie to me about it?”

Spike tensed at the contact with his injury, his breath quickening as he swallowed convulsively and quickly stammered out, “I w-was scared, Buffy…I didn’t think you’d -- I mean -- I thought you’d be…”

“Angry?” the Slayer suggested with an ironic smirk. “Because, lying to me and treating me like some kind of fool -- those things aren’t going to make me angry *at all*, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Spike whispered, mentally seizing on the slightly calmer tone of her voice, the tone that made it sound as if her anger was beginning to fade. “I just -- I know you -- you don’t like me -- talking to other women, and -- and I wasn’t sure…”

“Shhh,” Buffy whispered, cutting him off, as she dropped the belt to the floor and moved in behind him, her arms wrapping around his torso as she pressed a light kiss to the nape of his neck. “I get it -- you’re an idiot -- but I get it.”

Spike nearly cried with relief -- but it was clearly not over, as the movements of her hands on his body became slow and sensuous, before she gripped his hips and turned him around to face her, pushing him, albeit more gently, back against the ladder and kissing him slowly, intently, on the mouth.

He returned the kiss, until the pressure of her body against his began to once again press the rung of the ladder into his sensitive back, and he pulled cautiously away from the kiss, pleading in a soft, trembling voice.

“Buffy -- please, love -- I -- I’m hurt…”

She ignored his words, gripping his arms possessively and meeting his eyes with a lustful, predatory smile. “You were right to worry -- in a way. Because I *don’t* like you talking to other women, Spike. You’re mine, and only mine -- and I want this to be clear -- if I ever catch you in here with a woman…” She leaned in closer, deliberately pressing him back harder against the ladder until he gasped with pain, and leaning up to whisper against his ear, “…I’ll kill you both. Do you understand me?”

Spike nodded quickly, his eyes closed. “Yes -- please, Buffy…please, you’re -- you’re hurting me…”

She waited until he had opened his eyes to smirk triumphantly, running a possessive hand down his side to his hip, and around to caress the bare flesh of his bottom, as she murmured with a little shrug, “You’re mine to hurt.”

But she did finally pull him away from the ladder -- and toward the bed.


	12. Chapter 12

The sense of relief was so intense, when Buffy’s hands on his body became gentle, and her mouth sought out his for a tender kiss, that for a few moments all Spike could do was to respond, to lose himself in the sensations of pleasure and affection that she was creating in his body and his heart. In spite of everything she had done to him, he still loved her, still craved her affection, and thirstily drank up every last drop of tenderness she saw fit to spare him.

Even if only moments before, she had been pouring out torture and degradation, instead of kisses and soft embraces.

It was only when Buffy pushed him down on the bed, scraping the battered and torn injury on his back against the sheets, staining them with his blood, that Spike finally found the will to protest.

“Buffy,” he barely dared to venture a quiet plea, still afraid that the wrong word might still set her off again. “love, please -- I can’t. Please -- not tonight. I’m -- I’m in a lot of pain, still, and I-I’m so bloody tired -- please, Buffy…”

“Shhh,” she advised him in a gentle whisper, pinning him down with her body on top of his. “Quiet, Baby -- don’t ruin this…”

As her kisses traveled slowly down from his face to his throat, and her hands slowly, seductively, made their way over his body, Spike felt himself surrendering again, as her touch ignited the ever-present fire of need he always felt for her.

*What’s the harm of it, really?*

he reasoned through the haze that clouded his thoughts, as his body began to respond to her expert touch. * _It’s over now…she’s not mad anymore. Why upset her again, when you know this is what you bloody well want, mate, as much as she does? Just let her have her way -- and when it’s over, when you’re both satisfied… then you can try to decide what to do about -- about what she did…before…*_

It was easier than it should have been to banish the images from his mind, images of the brutal abuse she had inflicted on him mere minutes earlier. He knew that he *should* be thinking about it -- should be pushing her away and insisting on drawing an end to this encounter immediately -- because if he allowed this now, it would only be worse next time she lost her temper.

But then, there was the question of whether or not Buffy would *allow* herself to be pushed away -- whether or not she would let him end this dangerous affair between them at all. It was a question that was best considered at a later time, when he was alone, and could take the time to remember, to think through all that had happened, and try to come to some sort of solution.

But the truth was, at the moment -- he didn’t * _want*_ to remember it.

All he wanted was to feel her loving him, cherishing him without words, as she was doing in that moment -- effectively driving the more disturbing, frightening thoughts from his mind -- if only for the moment.

Until Buffy did something that forced him to remember again.

A bolt of panic broke through the deceptive euphoria brought on by her touch, when Spike felt the first cold circle of steel go around his right wrist. He opened his eyes, looking up at it, noticing that it felt tighter than usual -- and realizing that she had wound the chain around the bedpost a couple of times, leaving him almost no slack whatsoever; and she was now winding the chain of the other shackle around the other bedpost in the same way.

When she was through, he would not be able to move at all.

He raised his wide, fearful eyes, staring up at Buffy in a silent plea, shaking his head slightly -- but she just smiled as she jerked the other shackle tight, her right hand still pinning his free wrist to the mattress above his head.

“No,” he objected in a slightly shaky voice, struggling against her grip -- until the strain of the effort tore at his wounds, and he winced in pain, giving up his attempts to break her grip on his wrist for the moment. She was straddling his waist now, rendering his legs effectively useless to him -- though they hadn’t been much use before, entangled as they were in his own jeans, still down around his lower thighs.

“Buffy,” he pleaded weakly, “Buffy, please -- I *don’t* want to do this! Don’t put those bloody things on me, I *don’t* want…”

His words broke off in a startled, frightened little cry as she brought her knee to rest between his legs, not quite hurting him -- yet -- but uncomfortably close to his exposed groin.

“What’s rule number one, Sweetheart?” Buffy asked him in a soft, deceptively patient voice, smirking down at him with a malicious sparkle in her eyes.

Spike swallowed convulsively, wracking his mind to remember what it was that she was talking about -- aware through his rising panic that above all else, he had to give her the answer she wanted, *now*, or suffer the consequences. As he remembered what she was talking about, Spike grimaced, closing his eyes, before grinding out the words in defeat.

“Don’t fight you.”

“Yeah -- and you’re fighting me,” Buffy pointed out unnecessarily, tightening her grip on his wrist until it was painful, though her smile remained calm. “Wonder what I should do about that, Baby?”

Fear overwhelmed the last of Spike’s resistance, as he met her eyes pleadingly and whispered, “I’m sorry, love -- I didn’t mean to -- please, I…”

“Shut up.”

Recognizing the dangerous edge that had crept back into her voice, replacing the tenderness of moments before, Spike obediently was quiet, waiting for her to go on, and hoping against hope that she would let the matter go at that.

She didn’t.

“I think I’m going to have to punish you, Sweetheart.” The Slayer’s perfect lips formed a playful pout, as she met his eyes with a wicked smirk in her own, and reached again for the other shackle, locking it firmly around his other wrist.

Panic began to close in, and Spike pulled uselessly against the bonds, his breath coming in harsh gasps as she rose up off him and began to pull his jeans the rest of the way off, already reaching for the shackles attached to the foot of the bed, ready to adjust them to her liking -- and take away any small shred of power over his own body Spike might have left.

“Buffy, no,” he begged her. “Don’t -- let me up, love, please, I’m telling you *no*, I don’t want you to do this!”

As his legs came free of the denim that had bound them, he kicked out instinctively in a futile effort to free himself -- and in an unlucky stroke of fate, managed to kick out at just such an angle as to catch the Slayer across the face, as she was leaning down to adjust the shackles.

Buffy let out an indignant cry of more surprise than pain, before her eyes narrowed and her jaw set in anger, and she gripped the ankle of the offending leg in her hand, pulling his leg taut and glaring at him menacingly. A slight flick of her wrist had the bones within a fraction of an inch from breaking, and drew a sharp, fearful cry of fearful anticipation from Spike’s lips.

“You know, I don’t have to put the shackles on,” she remarked softly, evenly. “There are other ways of making sure you don’t move your legs.”

“No,” Spike whispered, shaking his head, a deep dread building in his heart as he was suddenly sure that she was going to snap his ankle right then and there. “No, Buffy, don’t -- do whatever you want, love, I’m sorry…I’m sorry, please…”

He flinched when she jerked his ankle again -- but only to pull it toward the shackle at the end of the taut chain, fastening it firmly, and then moving to the other one. His assessment had been accurate -- when she was done, Spike found that his body was spread taut on the bed, the total absence of any give in the chains leaving him unable to move at all.

He was completely at her mercy.

“Buffy, love,” he murmured in a soft, shallow sort of voice, struggling to keep his tone even and calm, “love, I’m sorry for -- for whatever it is that I’ve done to -- to upset you. Please -- don’t do this, love…don’t…don’t hurt me…” The last words were a whisper of shame and submission, and he could not bring himself to look at her as he spoke them.

Buffy smiled sympathetically as she moved to the head of the bed, and brushed his hair back from his eyes tenderly. “You know,” she said softly, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “I’m pretty sure I told you to shut up.”

With those words, she took the gag she had used so many times before from the drawer in the nightstand, and, against Spike’s weak attempts to prevent it, pressed it into his mouth and fastened it tightly behind his head. But she did not stop there, adding an item she had never used on him before -- a wide, black leather strap that she wrapped around his eyes, leaving him blind, and utterly helpless.

When she had finished her preparations, she gripped a handful of Spike’s blonde curls, and yanked his head back, leaning in close to his ear to whisper, “I think you need to be reminded just whose you are, Baby…”

The only protest the bound vampire could make was a weak, pleading whimper behind the gag, as he tried desperately to make her understand that he *knew* he was hers, there was no need for this terrifying ordeal to take place…

But the problem was -- Buffy *wanted* it to take place.

And for the next couple of hours, she took her time, taking her pleasure of him in every way her cruel imagination could devise. Spike already knew that she enjoyed hurting him -- marking his flesh with whatever she could find…blades, holy water, her own sharp fingernails…and tonight, she made use of all of those tactics.

By the time she was finished, Spike was trembling with the pain of her torment, and the exhaustion of the strain of his taut, bound limbs. He was still blindfolded, though Buffy had removed the gag quite some time earlier in the evening.

“Let’s make some better use of that dirty, lying mouth of yours,” she had sneered -- and he had known that he had no choice but to do as she said.

Now, he was too weary and broken down to even attempt to suppress the sob that rose in his throat, as he listened to the sounds of her getting dressed again, preparing to leave.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed softly. “Buffy, I’m sorry, love…please…I’m so sorry…”

They seemed the only words his broken heart and mind could compose in that moment.

Buffy was silent as she finished fastening her own jeans, and then he heard her footsteps approaching the head of the bed. He did his best not to flinch away from her, as she stroked her fingertips affectionately down the side of his bruised cheek, before leaning down to place a tender kiss there.

“I know you are,” she said softly. “And I forgive you, Baby.” She sighed wearily, and he could almost envision her shaking her head sadly as she added, “But I’m really not sure you get it yet, Spike.”

His heart sank at the thought that after all she had put him through that night, completely against his will, she might not be finished yet.

“I do,” he barely managed to get the words out through the sobs that nearly choked him, rising up in his throat. “Buffy, I do…I’m yours, I know I am…just please, don’t…don’t…”

He did not even know what to ask her not to do.

There was no telling what she might have in mind.

The unexpected replacement of the gag in his mouth took the choice from his mind, as she fastened it more tightly than before, and then checked to make sure that his blindfold was secure as well.

“I don’t think you really do, Spike,” she informed him softly. “But you will.” She leaned in close, brushing his damp, disheveled hair back gently as she went on, “You need to understand that I’ll do whatever I want to do with you -- whenever I want to do it -- and what you want doesn’t really factor into it, Spike. You’re a *thing* -- a soulless, evil thing. And by rights, I should kill you.”

He felt her lips form a smile against his throat as she added, “I only keep you alive because I enjoy you -- so you’d better make sure I *keep* enjoying you.”

She rose up away from him then, sending a fresh wave of panic through him as he felt her pull the sheet up over him up to his neck, covering his body completely, and realized that she did not mean to hurt him anymore -- not right then, anyway -- or to unchain him, either.

She meant to leave him there.

“Let’s see if this little lesson helps you get it through your head, Baby,” Buffy said with an audible smirk. “You’re mine -- and you’ll get out of those chains when and if I decide to let you out. I’ll keep you here as long as I want to. Do you understand?”

Knowing what was expected of him, Spike nodded immediately, his entire body shaking with fear and a rising, hopeless despair.

“Good,” she said, sounding satisfied as she leaned down to kiss his cheek again, before pulling the sheet up over his head as well, leaving him completely hidden from view.

As he heard her footsteps moving away, Spike struggled to cry out against the gag, to plead with her not to leave him here like this, helpless and bound, easy prey to anything or anyone who might decide to come into his crypt -- and worst of all -- *alone*.

But she paid no heed to his attempted cries -- and in a matter of moments, her footsteps had completely died away.

She was gone.

And Spike was completely alone.


	13. Chapter 13

Twenty-four hours passed before Buffy finally let Spike up from the bed.

She came by to check on him every few hours or so -- but by the time she came by the first time, Spike had lost all sense of time. It felt like days since she had chained him to the bed, and left him there, blindfolded and gagged and utterly helpless.

Even his sense of smell was lost to him, for all intents and purposes, as his face was covered by the bed sheet, heavy with the scents of the two of them and their coupling, and effectively keeping out any other scents.

Thus it was that he did not even know she was there until she touched him -- and he flinched violently against the chains, still not aware that it was her at all -- and not sure whether or not he should be more terrified if it *was* her, or some random demon that had happened upon his underground room.

“Shhh,” she soothed him softly from near the foot of the bed, as she ran a gentle hand up his leg under the sheet, causing him to shiver at the contact, after hours of deprivation. “Just me, Sweetie.”

He moaned against the gag, desperate to beg her to unchain him -- but she did not seem inclined to do so, not yet.

“Shhh,” she repeated, more sharply this time. “Apparently you haven’t learned your lesson, yet, Spike. I told you to shut up -- and I haven’t once taken that back.”

Though it was almost beyond his control at that point, he was so desperate to be released, Spike forced back the sob that rose in his throat, with an effort making himself be silent.

“That’s better,” Buffy had responded in a soft, soothing tone, as her hand under the sheet had edged up higher along his thigh. “That’s a good boy…”

Spike had never felt so degraded, so violated, as he did in that moment, before her touch became as intimate as it would that night. Just knowing that he was utterly helpless, reduced by the gag and blindfold and relentless bonds to nothing more than her plaything, made him feel ashamed and despondent…and utterly without hope.

“You’re mine, Spike.“

She had repeated the words firmly, leaning down to whisper in his ear as her hand found the most private parts of his body, her arm dragging the sheet up to expose him, allowing a cool draft from the room to blow over his vulnerable body, and setting a steady shiver of cold and fear and shame running through his body.

This partial exposure was somehow more humiliating and invasive than if he had been fully exposed to her sight.

“You’re mine -- and you don’t have the right to fight me…to talk back to me. I’ll do whatever the hell I want to do to you, whenever I want to do it,” the Slayer continued in a chillingly soft voice against his skin, as her hand slowly, thoroughly explored his body. “Is that clear? Do you understand?”

Tears slipped out from beneath the leather blindfold, as Spike nodded in submission, knowing that there was nothing else he could really do. As Buffy continued touching him, using secrets that he had held as cherished between them -- touching him in intimate, caressing ways that never failed, even now, to bring about a physical reaction in him -- Spike’s shame intensified, and he instinctively turned his face away from her, choking back a sob.

Immediately, Buffy’s hand withdrew, and he felt her stand up straight. He could almost see those cold, narrowed green eyes as she replied calmly, “No. I really don’t think you do, Spike.”

Desperate, panicked at the thought of being left there again, Spike let out a muffled cry against the gag, trying to plead with her for leniency -- but there was none to be had.

“See? There you go again…I thought we were clear on this…you do what I tell you. That’s it. But, apparently, it’s gonna take a little longer to get through to you.”

He had immediately gone silent and still in a last ditch effort to please her, to undo the damage he had done -- but it was too late. Without another word, Buffy had covered his body again with the sheet, and walked out the door.

She had come back again, several times, just to talk to him -- filling his head with her words of possession and ownership, reinforcing the idea that he was *hers*, and only hers, with no rights of his own, as her hands invaded his body in a casual manner of unconcern that left him feeling dirty and ashamed. But each time, he found that he managed to last longer before doing something that made her angry…made her leave him there again.

The last time she came, as she pulled the sheet up off of his lower body, doubling it so that both halves of it were over his face, Spike forced himself to remain perfectly still, not to make a sound, as she touched him, drawing her fingers lightly down the length of his exposed manhood.

“Hey, Baby,” Buffy murmured as she pulled the sheet down off of his face, leaning in to kiss him softly, affectionately, on the cheek.

He did not flinch, though everything in him was screaming out in horror and revulsion at her touch. The convulsive swallow visible in his throat made his indecision clear to the Slayer; she knew that he did not know which was what she wanted -- an attempt at response, or the order she had given him of silence.

“You want me to take the gag off, Sweetheart?” she asked in an unexpected tone of gentle compassion.

Spike hesitated, fearing a trap, and then nodded quickly, still careful not to make a sound, even as he felt tears of hope and relief -- perhaps premature -- flowing from his eyes again. He could scarcely believe it when her hands went behind his head, and carefully unfastened the straps that held the gag in place, gently removing it from his mouth.

“There we go,” Buffy said softly, reaching up a hand to caress his cheek. “Is that better, Baby?”

Spike swallowed hard, trying to lubricate his dry throat enough to answer her, but then just nodded in relief. He struggled for a moment, before finally managing a whisper of broken gratitude, “Th-thank you…”

As furious as he had been at her cruel treatment of him -- there was a part of him that had become almost resigned to the place she had forced him into, and truly meant those words with all the gratitude of his heart.

But immediately after they were spoken, Spike flinched, drawing in a fearful gasp -- thinking, too late, that he might be punished for speaking without her permission.

“Shhh,” she whispered gently, stroking his cheek lightly with the backs of her fingers. “It’s okay -- you’re welcome, Sweetheart. You‘ve been down here for a whole day now…”

It hardly seemed possible -- it seemed like so much longer to Spike.

She paused for just a moment, before saying words he had barely dared to think that he might hear from her. “I think -- maybe you’re finally ready to get up now -- don’t you?”

Spike hesitated, his entire body shaking with the tension of indecision, as he barely dared the whisper in response, “Y-yes…please? Please, Buffy…”

“You’re gonna do what I tell you -- aren’t you, Spike?”

He nodded, tears streaming freely now as he whispered desperately, “Yes…”

“You’re not going to *ever* lie to me again -- are you?” Her voice took on a harder edge as she gripped his hair and jerked his head back in a not-so-subtle threat.

“No,” he replied, urgently, tearfully. “No, Buffy, I’m so sorry…please…”

She did not release her grip on his hair, leaning in close to speak softly next to his ear, her voice terrifyingly calm and in control, “And if you *ever* -- fight me -- or try to leave me -- again…I’ll leave you down here for a week next time. Do you understand me, Spike?”

He tried to nod, though it was difficult with her hand fisted so tightly, painfully, in his hair. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps, as he barely managed to get out, “Y-yes…yes, I won’t, Buffy…I won’t, I swear it, please…”

She waited a long, terrifying moment, in which Spike was almost certain that she was going to change her mind, and leave him there again, before finally allowing her grip to ease into a gentle caress on the back of his head, as she leaned in to kiss his trembling lips tenderly.

And then, her hands rose to unfasten the iron shackles around his wrists. Spike broke down in sobs that were almost completely involuntary, a physical reaction to the intense relief of the painful tension in his muscles, as Buffy got up from the bed and moved around to free his ankles as well.

His hands were free, but he still did not dare to touch the blindfold on his eyes, afraid to move, lest some small action might anger her and cause her to change her mind. But then, his arms hardly felt strong enough to even complete that small action. He had been injured and exhausted when this whole ordeal had begun, and weakened from blood loss. Now, having eaten nothing in over twenty-four hours, physically and emotionally devastated, Spike knew that there was no resistance left in him at the moment.

“Can you sit up?” Buffy asked him softly, coming back to the head of the bed and placing a soft, strong hand behind his back to help him to rise.

“I -- I don’t know,” Spike whispered shakily, trying to regain control of the tears that had momentarily consumed him. “I think so…”

“Good,” she nodded in approval, when he was leaning wearily against the headboard, his head leaning back against it, gasping for breath. “You must be hungry, Baby.”

It was not a question, but Spike nodded eagerly. “Yes,” he gulped back a sob, whispering, “yes, please, Buffy…”

In the next moment, he heard the creak of the mattress as she got up, and her soft footsteps as they reached, and then ascended, the ladder. He was fairly certain that she had gone to get him some blood -- but then, how could he really be certain of anything at this point? She had him so shaken, so confused by now that he really had no idea what to believe.

He wanted to take the blindfold off, now that he was beginning to be able to feel his arms again -- but he did not dare.

He just waited, silent and shaking and as still as he could be, for Buffy to return.

He could hear the smile in her voice as she approached him a few minutes later, could smell the warm, steaming mug of blood in her hands, as she sat on the edge of the bed again and took one of his hands in hers, guiding it to the warm stone that held his first food in over a day.

“Good job, Sweetie,” she remarked softly, and at first he had no idea what she was talking about. Something in him seized up in fear that perhaps she was being sarcastic, perhaps he had made some mistake he did not know about…but then she went on with clear approval in her voice, “You passed my final test.”

He flinched slightly, but managed to keep himself mostly under control, as she reached up to untie the blindfold behind his head, gently removing it and laying it aside. He blinked a few times, as his damp, glistening eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room, and finally focused on the patiently smiling face of the Slayer sitting in front of him.

“I wondered if you’d take it off -- once I left the room,” Buffy explained softly. “But you didn’t. You finally get it, Spike…you don’t make the decisions anymore, not even for yourself. I do. You get that -- don’t you?”

She nodded leadingly, and Spike nodded quickly in response, his wide eyes unable to meet hers for long. “Yes,” he whispered. “I-I’m sorry, Buffy…”

“It’s okay,” she dismissed his apology with a shake of her head and a wave of her hand. “That’s over, Sweetheart…we never have to talk about it again.”

As if he was the one who had committed the greater wrong, and she was doing him a tremendous favor in forgiving him for it.

“I know you probably want to get cleaned up…get dressed…gorge yourself on blood,” Buffy smiled teasingly at him.

Spike nodded slowly in agreement, resentfully adding his own items to the list, as he began to recover from the trauma and shock of his ordeal.

*Grab the keys to the bike, or the Desoto…drive a few hundred miles from here…plot your bloody, gruesome, painful death…*

Buffy leaned in and kissed him gently; he knew better than to resist her, and though he would not have admitted it in that moment, a part of him did not want to resist her. As Buffy pulled away, she met his eyes with warmth and affection in her own.

“I’ll leave you alone, Sweetie. See you later.”

Once she was gone, Spike quickly downed the blood in the mug with a desperate thirst, and then rose shakily from the bed, stumbling on shaky, partially numb legs toward the shower. Halfway there, he fell to his knees on the floor, the blood he had ingested coming up again, spilling over his shaking knees as he braced his hands on the floor, struggling just to not pass out right there with weakness and exhaustion and the utter terror of the past day and a half.

After a few hazy moments in which he was not sure whether or not he was going to be able to stay conscious, the dark flashes of color faded from before his eyes, and Spike struggled to his feet again, looking down in disgust at the lukewarm splashes of blood that now ran down his legs.

He had barely taken a step toward the bathroom, when he suddenly felt her behind him, the moment before she actually touched him. Instinctively he pulled forward away from her, as her slim, strong arm slid around his waist, pinning his arms to his sides -- but then he froze completely as she spoke in a soft, threatening tone.

“I’m going to assume you didn’t know it was me -- and that’s why you pulled away. Is that right?”

Spike nodded quickly, gratefully accepting the excuse she had given him.

“Good,” Buffy softly replied without missing a beat, her free hand tangling in his hair and jerking his head back so that her soft, warm lips brushed against his ear as she went on. “I just wanted to be sure you understood one more thing, Sweetheart. I know we understand each other now -- I know you know what’s expected of you, and you’re going to be good -- aren’t you?”

Spike nodded, not trusting himself to speak, feeling panic closing in again with an iron grip around his heart.

“But you know, I was thinking,” Buffy went on, her voice deceptively mild and casual. “Just in case you should have a momentary relapse of stupidity…and think of something pathetically dumb, like, say, leaving town? You know what I would do if you did something like that, Spike?”

Spike fought back the trapped sob that rose in his throat, shaking his head in response, his entire body shaking with dread, as her hand drifted down his arm, her fingertips lightly stroking his bare hip as she spoke.

“First of all -- I’d have my friend -- you know, the really powerful witch? Do a location spell -- it’d lead me right to you. You know that even if you try to hide, I could find you so fast…”

Spike felt his heart sinking with the realization of how true her words really were.

“I’d bring you back -- and then I’d have to spend some time reminding you of your place, Baby. This was one day. If you ever run away from me -- this’ll look like a picnic, Sweetheart, next to what I’ll do to you.“ Her voice was perfectly calm, controlled, and he felt her lips form a cold smile against his skin as she added with cruel amusement, “You may never leave this basement again. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you *completely*…*mine* -- no matter how bad it hurts. *You*. Do you understand me?”

Spike nodded, fresh tears of despair streaking his face, as he realized how futile his ideas of escape had been. She was obsessed now, obviously. She would follow him anywhere -- and she *could*, too.

The Slayer’s next actions emphasized the power of the trap that bound him to her, as Buffy let him go, and moved immediately to his dresser, opening the third drawer down and reaching to the far left corner -- her hand emerging clutching two sets of keys.

The motorcycle -- and the DeSoto.

She smiled pleasantly, holding his gaze as she put the keys in the pocket of her jacket, and crossed the room to where he stood, shaking, terrified, and painfully aware of the fact that he was still completely naked and vulnerable to her, not yet up to defending himself, even if he could have found the emotional strength to do so.

She raised a hand to gently cup his cheek, smiling as she remarked, “There’s no where in this town you can’t walk, anyway, is there?”

She leaned in to kiss him one more time, firmly -- *possessively* -- before turning and climbing up the ladder again…leaving Spike alone, with nothing but his own despair.


	14. Chapter 14

When Tara left Spike’s crypt that night, she was livid with him, for so many reasons.

For opening his door to the Slayer again, throwing away the safety she had given him and allowing her the power to hurt him again. For lying to her about it, letting her believe that he was being strong and smart and refusing to be the victim anymore, when he was still enough afraid of Buffy that the moment she showed up, he insisted that Tara leave, for fear of what the Slayer might do if she found her there.

For choosing Buffy’s abuse over the compassion she had offered him.

She shook her head, wincing slightly at that last one. This was not about her, or what she wanted. This was about the fact that her very good friend was allowing himself to be abused, and rejecting every effort she had made to help him.

By the time she reached her own apartment that night, “livid” had faded to just plain mad.

By the time she got out of classes the next day, “just plain mad” had given way to a grudging concern.

And by the morning after that, Tara’s concern had become genuine fear for Spike’s safety. Buffy might not have hit him since the last time she knew of, three weeks earlier -- but Spike was still clearly afraid of her. Tara knew from that sign, and from her own painful past experience, that it was only a matter of time before the Slayer struck out at Spike again.

The problem was, now that she knew that Buffy was back in Spike’s life, she did not want to take a chance of visiting him at a time when the Slayer was with him. If Buffy really was still dangerous to the blond vampire, would it not be putting him at greater risk, if she happened to show up when Buffy was there, and could not talk him into leaving her then and there?

Tara sighed wearily as she pushed the door to the Magic Box open -- stopping short when she realized with embarrassed dismay that she had walked in right in the middle of one of their frequent Scoobie meetings -- meetings that, since her breakup with Willow, she was no longer invited to attend.

Everything in the naturally shy girl wanted to flee, to back out the door before anyone noticed her, and the awkwardness could overcome the atmosphere in the room. But it was too late; they were all already looking up at her, with varying degrees of discomfort.

“Tara,” Willow whispered, a pitiful sort of hope to her voice that tore at Tara’s heart in a vast number of ways.

She knew that she still loved Willow.

She also knew that she could never be with her again, after what she had done.

Tara’s eyes quickly moved from those of the redhead, and in what was mostly an attempt just to break eye contact, she found them suddenly locked on Spike’s wide, searching blue eyes.

And just like that -- her fear for his safety shifted right back to anger…though it was not fully directed at him.

The blond vampire’s face was a mass of dark purple bruises which appeared to have just begun to fade, and everything about his carriage, his manner, as he sat there at the table -- a few feet from the seated Slayer, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed slightly -- spoke of submission…and fear.

It was obvious that he saw the knowledge in her eyes -- the blazing anger that began there -- because he immediately averted his gaze, glancing anxiously in Buffy’s direction, no doubt checking to see if she had noticed anything amiss.

She hadn’t had time to; the exchange had lasted only an instant.

“Hi, Tara, long time no see,” Xander threw her a friendly smile, drawing Tara’s eyes to his with a steady, unflinching gaze -- though the smile still seemed a little forced.

“Yeah, not since you broke up with Willow for raping your mind,” Anya added with a blank sort of smile that clearly said she had no idea how very inappropriate her words had been.

The group at the table fell silent, all of them looking anywhere but at her, and Tara looked away as well -- but not before noticing the sideways look of alarm and indignation that Spike cast in the redheaded witch’s direction. It didn’t matter -- not in that moment.

She just had to get away.

“I need a b-book,” she blurted out suddenly. “That’s why I came. I’ll just -- be up there,” she mumbled as she quickly strode across the room and up the ladder, where she promptly sat down on the floor beside the low bookshelves, relieved to be out of their sight at last.

Even as she did, she wondered why she hadn’t just told them she’d come back later, and gone back out the front door. It would have been easier than waiting up here for their meeting to disperse. But really, deep down, she knew why she hadn’t just left; she needed to talk to Spike.

Or rather, Spike needed her to talk to him.

As she idly browsed through the books, most of which she never would have considered using, Tara kept a casual ear attuned to the conversation downstairs, which had resumed some semblance of normality after a few awkward moments. It seemed that after all, it was easier for all the Scoobies to simply forget that she was there, and go about their business.

Tara did notice with a bit of discomfort, however, that Willow barely said a word during the discussion.

And, more alarmingly, neither did Spike.

The only time that he spoke up at all was when Giles asked him what he knew about the particular new breed of demon that the Slayer had run into during the previous night’s patrol. Spike responded calmly, explaining what he knew about the origins and attributes of that particular species, but his voice seemed quieter than usual -- subdued -- and Tara could hear the underlying note of fear in his tone, after the Slayer snapped at him to skip the history lesson and just tell her what she needed to know to kill it.

Tara felt her anger flare, but quickly pressed it down for the moment.

Now was not the time.

Eventually, the rather routine meeting broke up, and she breathed a sigh of relief, as she heard the sounds of the Scoobies preparing to leave. Not surprisingly, Willow made a swift exit the moment the discussion was over; Xander kissed his fiance near the door, as she hastily turned over the sign in the window to read “Open“ again, and left her to finish her shift in the shop, while Giles left the shop to her to go about doing -- whatever it was that he did on his own time, Tara had never been quite sure.

Cautiously Tara glanced over the railing, unnoticed by the few remaining Scoobies, as a few customers began to enter the shop again. Spike moved toward the training room in the back of the shop, most likely headed for the alley exit, and the most sun-free route back to his crypt.

The Slayer had been standing just a few feet out from where Tara stood, and she watched with alarm as she grimly strode to some point under the upstairs platform, and Tara heard a slightly muffled sound of alarm, and a soft thud of impact which she could only assume was Spike’s back hitting the wall behind him.

Desperately, Tara glanced around to see if anyone would notice the display, but Anya was the only one left in the shop, and she was very busy assisting -- or harassing, depending on one’s perspective -- the newly arrived customers.

“Spatiosus,” she murmured the Latin word under her breath that would bring their whispered conversation to a level where she could hear it, her heart pounding with fear for her friend.

She heard Spike’s voice, hushed but shaking slightly, as he opened his mouth to say something; but Buffy’s soft voice cut him off with a whispered, “Shhh. Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Tara could hear the smirk in her voice as she lowered it slightly, and leaned in closer to whisper, “Unless you deserve it.”

“I don’t,” Spike whispered almost frantically. “Buffy, I haven’t…”

“Shut up now,” the Slayer ordered softly, her words inaudible to anyone but the vampire in front of her -- who instantly obeyed -- and the witch listening in upstairs. “Come here.”

Tara heard their footsteps walking away, into the training room, and let out a gasp of alarm, waiting until she heard the door quietly close behind them to rush down the stairs. Glancing around to ensure that Anya was still distracted, not wanting to involve anyone else in this dangerous affair unless she had to, Tara found herself hesitating outside the training room door -- listening.

Fortunately, her little spell still held, even with the door between them.

“Finestra,” Tara whispered the Latin word for “window” -- and the wall between her and the room became clear as glass, though only to her own eyes.

“I didn’t tell her anything, I swear it, Buffy, please…” Spike’s voice was trembling, fearful, as the Slayer slammed him hard back against the training room wall.

“Funny how she just showed up here today, isn’t it?” the Slayer hissed in a threateningly mocking tone, frighteningly calm, as she moved in closer to the vampire. “Did you happen to get attacked by a demon again last night after I left, Sweetie? And she just *happened* to be looking for my sister *again*? I bet you two had a pretty interesting conversation while she was patching you up -- didn‘t you?”

“No,” Spike objected, shaking his head pleadingly. “No, Buffy -- I haven’t seen her since -- since that time. It’s the *only* time -- Buffy, I swear…please…”

His words were cut off by a sharp slap across his face that knocked his head back against the wall, and he bit his lip to stifle the cry of pain that rose in his throat. He shrank back against the wall as the Slayer moved in yet nearer, her hand suddenly gripping his throat so that he could not draw breath, leaving him gasping uselessly -- silently -- as she leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“If I find out you’re lying to me, Spike…I’ll kill you. And I’ll kill her too. You know I mean it -- don’t you?”

Her voice was chillingly soft, even, and left a chill in Tara’s heart as well, knowing beyond all doubt that she meant every word. Tara gasped herself, as she watched Buffy’s knee edge upward between the helpless vampire’s legs in a terrifying gesture of menace, and watched Spike wince at the contact, nodding desperately in response, obviously just wanting to stop her from hurting him any more.

All at once Buffy released him, and Spike sank down against the wall, clutching his bruised throat and gasping in deep, panicked droughts of air.

Sometimes, Tara thought, not for the first time, it seemed that he almost forgot he was a vampire at all.

Without another word, the Slayer turned and strode toward the training room door.

Toward Tara.

Hurriedly whispering the words to end the spells she had cast, Tara turned on trembling legs, thankful that she had thought to bring a book -- any book -- with her from the upstairs level. Purposefully, she made her way to the cash register, painfully aware of the Slayer’s presence behind her as Buffy casually closed the door to the training room and sauntered up to the front counter.

“Hey, Tara.”

“Hey, Buffy.” Tara forced a friendly smile to her lips, hoping for Spike’s sake that it did not appear forced. “W-what’s up?”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Buffy shrugged, turning around and leaning against the counter as if she was just a little bored.

*Damn, she’s good,* Tara thought darkly, carefully keeping her expression uncertain and as clueless as possible.

“M-me?” she stammered -- deliberately, for once.

“Yeah. I was just -- wanting to be sure you were okay,” Buffy explained, as Anya rang up Tara’s purchase, and the blonde took the money from her wallet and laid it on the counter. “I mean -- oh, I’ll just say it. I was patrolling the other night, and I saw you in the cemetery.”

“Oh.” Tara’s heart was pounding, and that was the only response she could think of at the moment. Her mind was too busy going back over all she had overheard, trying to figure out what Spike had told Buffy -- and therefore, what she should tell her now.

“I mean -- I know this has been a really hard time for you, Tara,” Buffy went on, in a voice of near-sincere sympathy, as Anya took off to go accost another potential customer. “But -- I just want to be sure that you’re safe. I mean -- it’s not safe for you to be alone in the cemetery after dark. Not without me around, you know?”

“Oh,” Tara nodded. “I know what you mean, Buffy, and I usually wouldn’t. But -- I’ve been -- w-worried. About Dawnie, l-lately. And -- I had p-plans with her, but I w-went by the house, and sh-she wasn’t there. So, I th-thought maybe she might have gone to S-spike’s.”

“I don’t let her go to Spike’s,” Buffy immediately informed her, her tone matter-of-fact.

*No, you like him good and isolated, with no one to turn to, don’t you?* Tara thought, fighting back her rising rage.

Aloud, she said, “Well, I kn-knew she’d been there before, so I just thought…”

Buffy nodded as her voice trailed off. “Well, I just wondered, ‘cause it was like, midnight, you know? Or maybe even later…”

Tara hid a smirk that threatened to rise to her lips, noting the little slip that showed that Buffy really had not been anywhere near the cemetery when she had been there that first time, when she had tended to Spike’s injuries. It had been nearly dawn when she had left that time.

“I know,” she went along with it anyway with a nod. “See -- Spike was hurt. He w-was in pretty bad shape, s-so I stuck around to help him take care of it.”

Buffy nodded slowly, and Tara was intensely aware of the casual scrutiny in her gaze. “Well,” the Slayer finished with a sigh. “I know you’ve got a good heart, Tara. But you have to think of yourself. I mean, when it all comes down -- you’re human, Tara. Spike’s harmless, but he’s a vampire. You’re worth ten Spikes.”

*And he’s worth a hundred Slayers,* Tara bit back the retort that filled her mind, forcing another grateful smile as Buffy stood up straight as if to go.

“Thanks, Buffy,” she nodded. “I’ll be careful.”

Tara pretended to browse a bit more, waiting for Buffy to make her way out the front door -- and then headed directly for the training room, hoping that Spike was still there.

He was.

He was crouched on the floor against the wall, still holding his battered throat, his breath shallow and rapid and shaking. He flinched as she opened the door -- clearly expecting someone else -- and then stared at her, wide-eyed in startled fear. He glanced past her toward the shop, shaking his head and whispering, “Tara -- if she sees you…”

“She’s gone.”

He just stared at her in silence as he registered that response. Tara hesitated only a moment, before starting toward him.

“*Don’t*.”

She froze, confused and startled -- and a little hurt -- by the reaction, as Spike shakily rose to his feet, not quite meeting her eyes as he went on.

“If she -- if she comes back -- Tara, I can’t -- I can’t -- see you -- for a while…she…she gets jealous…she doesn’t want me to…so…you understand, right, love?”

The forced calm to his voice -- the same sound she had heard in so many other voices in the past hour -- was suddenly infuriating to Tara. She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes narrowing in anger as he continued to refuse to look at her, just stood there, his eyes stubbornly fastened on the floor, his jaw working as he fought to maintain a calm, blank expression.

“Yes,” she finally replied, her voice coming out in a low, hoarse tone of anger that seemed to surprise them both. “Yes, I understand, Spike.” Each word was distinct and separate, carrying a wealth of meaning -- very little of which seemed positive.

Spike flinched slightly at the sound, though she knew he knew she’d never hurt him.

“You’d rather let her hurt you than let me help you,” Tara continued, her voice soft but trembling with a dozen different painful emotions. She paused for a moment, before going on, “Spike -- I’m your friend. Now, I don’t like the fact that you lied to me -- and I’m mad as hell about it -- but I want to be here for you. I came in here because -- because I don’t like seeing her do this to you, and don’t want you to be alone. And -- and I know you don’t *want* to be alone.”

She hesitated just a moment, before pressing quietly, “Do you?”

Spike was silent, though his body had gone completely still, and it now seemed to take a supreme effort to keep himself from reacting in any way to her speech. His eyes were wide, staring down at the floor at her feet, his hands balled into fists at his sides, as he swallowed convulsively, forcing back the emotions that were visibly engulfing him.

Tara waited for his response -- which did not come -- and then added in a voice that was both soft and firm at once, “If you want me to help you -- if you want me to stay -- I will. But -- I’ll go if you want, too. This is your choice, not mine.”

Again, Spike was perfectly silent. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then shook his head, turning it slightly away from her.

Her heart sinking, breaking under the weight of a poor decision that was not her own to make, Tara turned toward the door, steps that seemed heavier than they should have been taking her only as far as the doorway.

“*Wait*.”

The sound was a bare whisper, barely even audible -- unless one had been listening for it with every desperate fiber of her being, intent on hearing it if it was there to be heard.

And Tara had been.

She stopped without turning, waiting for him to go on, determined to remain strong, not to become just another enabler of the situation by accepting what he was allowing to be done to him. She would go back -- but only if he was willing to allow her to help him, to get out of the situation, to…

“Stay…please, stay…”

All of her resolutions fell apart, as the sound of the vampire’s utter breaking behind her drew her around, and to his side in an instant. Spike was sobbing -- breathless, painful sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep down inside him, as he fell back down to the floor, driven to his knees with sorrow and pleading and pain.

Tara fell to her knees beside him and wrapped her arms around him without hesitation, pulling him to her and rocking slightly as she murmured comforting shushing sounds in his ear.

“Don’t leave me, Tara…” he sobbed, clinging to her, his head resting on her shoulder. “C-can’t be alone…please, don’t go…”

“Shhh,” she whispered, a soothing hand running up and down his back as she cradled him close to her, reassuring him, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not gonna leave you alone, Spike…”

After a few moments, his sobs seemed to ebb for the moment, and he pulled away from her slightly, meeting her eyes with a wide, tearful, desperate gaze. He was shaking, clearly terrified to even speak the words -- yet something within him seemed to know that it was the only way.

If he did not escape -- the Slayer would kill him.

“Help me,” he whispered, tears streaming from his eyes with the heartfelt plea. “Tara -- please help me.”


	15. Chapter 15

Tara whispered a quick Latin word, gesturing over Spike's shoulder toward the closed training room door -- and magically sealing it shut for the moment. The last thing either of them needed right then was for a nosy Scoobie to walk in on them and see something that they would surely report back to the dangerously possessive Slayer.  
  
  
  
  
Once she was sure that they were reasonably safe for the time being, she focused her attention on comforting her friend. He was staring up at her, pleading and desperation in his eyes -- mingled with sheer, uncontrolled terror. He was shaking violently, clearly on the verge of utter panic.

 

 

 

“Shhh,” she whispered, raising a hand to run gently through the hair at the back of Spike’s neck, and he lowered his head to her shoulder as she cradled him against her, rocking slightly. “It’s all right -- she’s gone. She’s gone, Spike. You’re safe now.”

 

 

 

He was quiet for a moment, gasping back sobs in an effort to bring his emotions back under his control.

 

 

 

Finally, he whispered without looking up. “No -- no, I’m not…”

 

 

 

“It’s up to you,” Tara insisted, a note of severity to her voice as she latched onto his acknowledgement, taking him by the shoulders and pushing him back, forcing him to face her. “I will do all that I can to help you, but Spike, it’s up to *you* whether or not you’re safe from her!”

 

 

 

Spike’s eyes welled with fresh tears, as he shook his head slowly in despair. “No,” he whispered. “No it’s not…not anymore…”

 

 

 

“Yes it is!” Tara forcefully argued, shaking him slightly as her wide, intent eyes searched his desperately for that spark of -- something -- courage? Pride? Self-preservation? She really did not know what she was looking for -- but she knew that she did not find it in his eyes. “You choose to stay with her, or to keep letting her do this to you again and again! Spike, you have to leave her!” she insisted emphatically, her piercing gaze refusing to allow him to look away from her again.

 

 

 

“Tara,” Spike whispered tearfully, a hopeless note of defeat to his voice. “You don’t understand. She won’t -- she won’t let me…”

 

 

 

“I made it so that she didn’t have any say in it at all, Spike, until you…” Tara bit off the words, wincing slightly at the harsh sound of her own voice.

 

 

 

Spike flinched slightly, swallowing back a fresh sob, before whispering in a wretched tone of self-disgust, “I know -- it’s my fault, I know…I’m so bloody stupid, love, I should never have let her in again…”

 

 

 

“I’m sorry,” Tara whispered, running her hand gently down his cheek, immediate regret for her words in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Spike, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not your fault she’s doing this to you -- but -- you’re the only one who can stop it, Spike. You have to leave her -- leave *town*, so she can’t find you.”

 

 

 

“Can’t,” Spike whispered, lowering his gaze in shame, swallowing hard. “She took my keys.”

 

 

 

“To the DeSoto?” Tara frowned, incredulous.

 

 

 

Spike nodded. “And the bike.”

 

 

 

Tara’s eyes widened in indignation. “How could she…I mean…those are *your*…” Her voice trailed off, as she shook her head in angry disbelief.

 

 

 

Spike nodded again miserably, not saying a word.

 

 

 

“Well – you could hotwire the car – couldn’t you?” Tara suggested after a moment.

 

 

 

“No,” Spike shook his head, still not able to bring himself to meet her eyes again. “She – she moved the car. I don’t know where she put it. Or the bike.”

 

 

 

Tara’s eyes narrowed in anger, and her lips formed a tight, determined line, as she disentangled herself from the discouraged vampire and rose carefully to her feet. Spike looked up at her in surprise, and his eyes were pleading and fearful. Tara realized with a pang of dismay and compassion that he was still not quite sure that he had not forfeited her help, her friendship, by opening his door to Buffy a few nights earlier.

 

 

 

“Come on,” she said gently, holding out her hands to help pull him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

 

 

 

“Where?” Spike asked her, his shoulders sagging slightly with relief as he stood up beside her.

 

 

 

“My place. Buffy has no idea where it is. And I have a car – a car she’s never seen before,” Tara pointed out with a conspiratorial grin.

 

 

 

Spike smiled uncertainly back at her, though his eyes were troubled and fearful. “Tara – what are you…”

 

 

 

“Wait here,” she instructed softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze as she headed for the exit into the alley. “I’ll pull the car around.”

 

 

 

************************************

 

 

 

“Okay,” Tara said in a tone of satisfied expectation, as she closed the door to her bedroom behind herself and Spike, and locked it firmly, then turned around to face her nervous guest. “Let’s get those clothes off.”

 

 

 

“*What*?” Spike gasped, his eyes wide with startled fear, as he took an involuntary step backward. “Love, what are you…?”

 

 

 

Tara felt tears well up in her eyes, as she reminded herself that the Spike she had known before his relationship with Buffy would have leered at her and made some sort of comment about why she wanted him naked, or some such thing. This uncertain, fearful version of the vampire she had known seemed truly frightened by her simple request.

 

 

 

She did not even want to think about why.

 

 

 

“It’s okay, Spike,” she gently reassured him, taking a cautious step toward him. “I just want to see how bad she hurt you – help you take care of it…okay?”

 

 

 

Spike shook his head rapidly, taking a couple more rapid steps backward. “I – I’m fine,” he insisted, the words too quick, and a little shaky, as he once again refused to meet her eyes. “She didn’t hurt me that bad, really, love. Just a couple of her standard punches to the nose, that’s all. Hurt like bloody hell but healed up right quick enough…”

 

 

 

“Spike.”

 

 

 

He froze, closing his eyes for a moment and sighing heavily, as the single word, spoken in that tone, told him that she was not buying his words for a second. Slowly, cautiously, her hands spread in front of her so as to be as unthreatening as possible, Tara advanced toward Spike, who had unconsciously backed away from her until his back was pressed against her wall, and he was shaking violently.

 

 

 

It seemed that he was not even aware of how badly shaken he really was.

 

 

 

“I-I’ll be fine, love,” he amended softly, apologetically, still without looking at her. “It’s not that bad – I’d really rather not…”

 

 

 

His words broke off, and he flinched, as she stopped a couple of feet in front of him, and reached out a gentle hand to touch his arm, steadying him.

 

 

 

“It’s okay,” she whispered, taking his other arm and noting with sorrow and sympathy how badly the rigid flesh beneath her fingers was trembling. She ran her hands up and down his arms in a soothing, rhythmic motion, as she repeated, “Spike, it’s okay – it’s okay…hey…”

 

 

 

He glanced up at her at those words, panic in his wide, tearful eyes.

 

 

 

“Spike,” she whispered tenderly, shaking her head in mild bewilderment as she held his gaze relentlessly. “you *know* I’m not gonna hurt you…you know that…”

 

 

 

He stared at her, nodding slowly in acceptance of those words, his mouth trembling as he struggled to hold back the well of emotions that he had kept bottled up for so long. Now, just a few moments of knowing that he was safe, if only for now, had brought those old emotions of fear and panic and helplessness – so carefully repressed during every moment he had spent at the meeting that day, with the Slayer in front of her friends – surging up inside of him, until he was not sure in this moment if he was going to be able to hold them back anymore.

 

 

 

“I’d never hurt you, Spike – don’t you know that?” Tara whispered, edging in closer as she gently stroked up and down his arms.

 

 

 

Spike nodded more emphatically, his head lowered as tears streamed from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Tara,” the words escaped him in a sob, as he raised his hands to clutch at her arms, leaning toward her. “I’m sorry – I know – I just – just can’t…”

 

 

 

Tara felt it when the wall within him broke, and she wrapped her arms around him in one swift motion, enveloping him in her affection and support – holding him together as he fell to pieces in her arms. When he collapsed to the floor, she went down with him, holding him as she whispered, “It’s okay…it’s okay, Sweetheart…just go ahead and cry, Spike…it’s okay…you’re safe here…no one can hurt you here…”

 

 

 

And for the first time in months – Spike believed that he was.

 

 

 

For now.

 

 

 

As the force of his cathartic tears finally began to ebb, however, he began to feel a new concern building up within him.

 

 

 

“Tara,” he rasped, raising himself up to look her in the eyes with concerned apprehension. “If she – if she finds me here…”

 

 

 

“She won’t,” Tara assured him. “The place is warded. No one can detect anything supernatural here.” When he gave her a curious look, she shrugged and smiled. “A lot of demons are drawn to magical energy – it’s just safer if they can’t sense my magic. And in this case – can’t sense you either.” She raised a hand to gently brush back his loose, disheveled blonde curls.

 

 

 

Spike flinched – just slightly, and completely out of reflex – but Tara did not miss it.

 

 

 

“My God, Spike,” she whispered, her voice hushed with horror, her eyes softened with compassion. “What did she do to you?”

 

 

 

Spike looked down again, uncomfortable, and awkwardly pulled away from her embrace, turning slightly and bracing his hand against the wall in an attempt to pull himself to his feet.

 

 

 

At the first slight pressure on his ribcage, he fell back down, biting back a cry of pain.

 

 

 

Tara’s eyes narrowed with a grim resolve, and an anger that was not directed at the injured vampire before her.

 

 

 

“Yeah,” she said flatly, pulling herself to her feet easily, and reaching down to support Spike with a gentle hand under one arm, and a firm but careful arm around his chest under his arms. “You’re just fine. I can see that now.”

 

 

 

Spike winced slightly, but managed to make it to his feet with her assistance. He did not respond to her words at all, as he leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

 

 

 

“I can’t just send you away like this, Spike,” Tara insisted firmly. “Not hurt this bad. And you have to get out of here.”

 

 

 

Spike quietly sniffed back the last of his tears, rubbing a hand across his eyes, while keeping his back turned to her carefully. “I’ll be fine, love,” he said in a low, hoarse voice. “I’ve survived worse…”

 

 

 

“Worse,” Tara echoed dubiously, raising one eyebrow. “Worse than a psychotic vampire *Slayer* -- you know, the supernatural being *designed* to hurt and destroy *vampires* -- using you as her own personal punching bag for months?”

 

 

 

When he did not respond, she moved around to face him, shifting to stand directly in front of him when he tried to turn away from her again. His back was to the wall again, and she was standing too close to allow him to turn his back on her.

 

 

 

“Spike,” she insisted softly, seeking his gaze until he finally, reluctantly, met her eyes, “please let me help you. I’ll never be able to rest knowing you’re out there somewhere hurt like this – please…”

 

 

 

Spike swallowed convulsively, his jaw working as he struggled to control the shaking that was beginning again deep in his stomach. “Tara, I – I don’t want – I mean – I don’t mean to be so – such a bloody ponce,” he finally admitted, his voice trembling slightly and his eyes downcast again. “It’s just – right now – I think if you touched me…” He looked up at her suddenly in alarm, fearing that she might have misunderstood, as he clarified, “…if *anyone* touched me…” He shook his head despairingly. “…I don’t think I could…I mean…”

 

 

 

Tara nodded slowly, her eyes softening with understanding. She was quiet for a moment, frowning pensively.

 

 

 

“What if…” she began thoughtfully after a moment, “…what if I used a spell? You know – something like the first time? Something to relax you a little bit, so you wouldn’t feel so…so scared? Would that be all right?”

 

 

 

Spike hesitated, considering. “I – I don’t want to fall asleep,” he whispered, and the haunted expression in his eyes nearly took her breath, as a painful, hollow feeling started in Tara’s stomach.

 

 

 

“It wouldn’t have to make you fall asleep,” Tara assured him softly. “It would just – make you feel safe. Secure. So you wouldn’t be afraid of what I was doing.”

 

 

 

Spike was silent, taking in those words, considering the idea. He seemed calmer now – but still uncertain.

 

 

 

“You know I won’t hurt you,” Tara whispered. “You know that – don’t you? Do you trust me, Spike?”

 

 

 

There was no hesitation this time, as Spike nodded. “I do, Tara,” he replied seriously. “I really do…”

 

 

 

“Then let me help you.” She paused, a half-smile rising to her lips as she reminded him, “You asked me to help you – so let me.”

 

 

 

Spike returned her smile with an effort, sighing – and she knew that he had relented.

 

 

 

“All right, then, Glinda,” he said softly. “Do what you will, love. I – I trust you.”

 

 

 

“Okay,” Tara nodded with relief and satisfaction as she instructed him softly, “Lie down on the bed.”


	16. Chapter 16

Spike was standing beside the bed before he suddenly spun around to face her, fear in his shining blue eyes.

“Please, love,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I’m not sure I can -- I mean…”

“Spike,” Tara softly but firmly cut him off, edging cautiously closer to him. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You know that. But -- you’re hurt bad already. You’ve got at least a couple broken ribs, I’m pretty sure of that by the way you were moving before -- and you need someone to help you. And -- it’s not like you can just take a trip down to the emergency room, you know?”

Spike swallowed hard, nodding reluctantly. “I know.”

“Please trust me, Spike,” Tara whispered, closing the gap between them and gently taking his hands in hers. “Please.”

“It’s just,” he began again weakly, and she could feel his hands shaking in her gentle grasp. “The whole bloody *magic* thing, love…I don’t want to -- I just don’t want to be -- under some spell…”

He shook his head, unable to go on -- and when he met her eyes, Tara could see that there was more than the fear of the spell in his gaze. She knew that he had always been a bit hesitant when it came to magic -- and that was wise, as far as she was concerned -- but she also knew that he was every bit as afraid of the idea of lying down on that bed and placing himself at the mercy of *anyone*, even her, as he was of the actual magic she was about to perform.

Perhaps, she thought, frowning pensively as an idea occurred to her -- there was a way to get past both fears.

“What if I don’t put you under a spell?” she suggested quietly, gazing levelly into his eyes, willing him to see the honesty of her intentions. “What if -- I put *me* under a spell?”

Spike frowned in confusion, a concerned question in his eyes. “Don’t quite follow you, love.”

“What if -- I just put a sort of -- truth spell on myself?” Tara explained. “Not to make me spill my deepest secrets or anything like that,” she laughed softly at the startled expression on his face. “Just -- something to make my intentions completely open to you?”

Spike was quiet for a moment, considering. “How would it work?” he asked at last.

Encouraged, Tara explained, “It’d kind of just -- make my aura visible…or feel-able might be a better way of putting it. Like -- you’re a pretty perceptive person, Spike. You know how you can usually tell if someone’s being honest or not?”

Spike’s smile was self-deprecating, and just slightly bitter. “Sometimes.”

Tara’s expression softened with sympathy, as she went on, “The spell will just make all of my -- my motivations, my feelings and intentions, like ten times more obvious to you -- or anyone, for that matter. The spell will be on me, not you -- but there’ll be no way that you can doubt my intentions while I’m trying to take care of your injuries -- okay? How does that sound?”

Spike lowered his gaze uncertainly, his eyes welling with tears. “You -- you’d do that for me?” he said, his voice hushed and hesitant.

Tara fought back a seething rage at the manipulative, abusive Slayer who had caused the once-confident vampire to doubt himself and his own worth so completely that he now found it so very difficult to believe that someone might be willing to go to the slightest trouble to help him.

“Of course I would,” she replied gently, raising a hand to touch his cheek, tactfully ignoring his slight flinch. “You’re my friend, Spike -- and I care about you. I’ll do whatever I can to help you, Sweetie.”

Spike was quiet for a moment, his eyes downcast, before he finally nodded in acceptance. “All right,” he said softly. “Do what you like, love. I -- I trust you.”

Tara didn’t see any reason to mention the fact that his trust in her was clearly limited -- otherwise there would not have been any reason for her to do the spell to reveal her own intentions at all. With a reassuring smile, she turned and began to go through a drawer in her dresser, taking out a few items she would need for the spell. Turning back to Spike for just a moment, she smiled again, a bit apologetically.

“I need a few minutes alone,” she explained, heading toward the bedroom door. “You just -- go ahead and get comfortable, okay? Get -- get your clothes off,” she clarified, a bit awkwardly. “And when I come back in -- you won’t be scared anymore.”

Spike did not seem to be able to speak, just nodding as she walked out the door and closed it discreetly behind her.

As he waited for her to return, Spike tried to bring himself to do as she had requested and take off his clothes -- but he couldn’t seem to do it. He tried -- really tried -- to take off his t-shirt over his head; but he quickly found that the injuries to his ribcage would not allow it, not unless he wanted his screams of pain to bring her running back into the room.

And as for the pants -- that was a line he didn’t even want to consider crossing at this moment.

Rationally, he knew that he had to do it if she was going to be able to get to his numerous -- and very severe -- injuries; but the thought of revealing himself to her, or anyone, right now, made him feel sick to his stomach.

He knew that Tara would not hurt him --- but still, there was a certain amount of shame associated in his mind with the livid bruises and cuts and burns that marred his body at the moment. He felt his face flush with embarrassment at the very thought of having Tara look at what had been done to him -- having her sharp mind contemplating what sort of sordid events might have led up to the infliction of such injuries.

When Tara came back into the room a few minutes later, he was still fully clothed, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, his hands tightly clasped together in his lap, his eyes downcast, shaking slightly with nervous tension.

He raised his eyes to look at her, his lips parted in the beginnings of an apology -- and the fears that had consumed him began to instantly melt away.

Tara was positively glowing.

And not metaphorically glowing either -- literally, actually *glowing*.

The golden light that surrounded her as she approached him, with an almost regal, gliding step, was filled with a sense of warmth and comfort that immediately overwhelmed him as she reached him -- in a very good way.

He had known that his instinctive fears had been unfounded before -- had known all along that he could trust her -- but now, those fears faded away in an instant, as she sat down on the bed beside him and reached out a hand to lightly rest on his arm.

She gave him a gently reproachful smile, as she remarked softly, “You’re still dressed.”

Something in the casual, natural tone of her voice let Spike know that she was not aware of the changes in her physical appearance, had no idea of the sweet, soft glow that surrounded her -- or the things that it was making him feel.

Peace.

Safety.

Awe.

He lowered his gaze, almost shyly, as he admitted softly, “I -- I couldn’t -- get this bloody shirt off. It -- it hurt too much…”

Tara’s eyes softened with compassion, as she suggested gently, “Let me help you. Come on…can you get your arms up?”

As she spoke, her hands moved to rest at his sides, sliding his shirt up to expose his bruised torso. At the soft touch of her hands, Spike felt the warmth that surrounded her begin to seep into his skin, easing the ache of bruised bones and tender flesh, and filling him with a sensation of protection and well-being.

He realized vaguely that what he was feeling was her intentions, her desires -- to keep him safe, to ease his pain -- and he felt his own heart flood with affectionate gratitude toward her. Obediently he tried to raise his arms, and grimaced as he found that he could not get them past his shoulders.

Carefully, Tara’s hands slid around to his back, stretching the soft fabric up to bring it over his head first, and then pulling it the rest of the way off of his body -- and she gasped in dismay at the sight of the patchwork of bruises and wounds that covered his chest and back.

For a moment, the soft golden glow that surrounded her was tinged with blood red, swirling and seeping through the gold, tinging it with a sensation of fury and violent anger -- but Spike was unafraid, recognizing as easily as he recognized the anger itself, that it was not directed at him.

“Lie down,” Tara instructed softly, visibly swallowing back the anger, and as the red faded out of her aura again, leaving only that welcoming golden light, Spike sensed that it was not really gone, but only pushed to the back for the moment. Tara had decided that it was more important right now to think about what she could do to help heal his injuries.

Spike obeyed, without the slightest trace of fear. She had been right; whatever spell she had performed on herself made it impossible for him to doubt her.

But when he felt her hands move cautiously to his belt buckle, Spike flinched away from her, an unintentional cry escaping his lips as he looked up at her in dread -- and then away from her in shame.

“Did I hurt you?” Tara asked, alarmed. “Spike, what hurts?”

He closed his eyes, shaking his head and turning his head away from her further, as tears seeped out from his closed lids. “Everything,” he whispered. “Tara, I’m sorry -- you didn’t hurt me -- it’s just -- I don’t want you to…to see…”

He did not dare to open his eyes, and felt his apprehensions growing as silence was his only response. And then, he felt the warmth, the reassurance, strengthening, as he sensed her gliding nearer to him, leaning down over him so that her face was closer to his. A soft hand brushed his hair back from his face, and he found himself reluctantly looking up at her, in spite of his shame.

Her eyes were shining with sympathetic tears, and she shook her head in gentle correction.

“Spike,” she whispered. “It’s not your fault. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

He could not respond, closing his eyes again, unable to bear the sympathetic softness in her eyes.

“Look at me.”

As much as his shame nearly prevented it, Spike found that he could do nothing else. “Tara,” he whispered hoarsely, shaking his head, unable to find words to express what he was feeling.

He didn’t need words.

“Spike -- whatever she’s done to you,” Tara softly told him, her hand soothingly caressing down the side of his face as her soft but arresting gaze locked onto his, “however she’s hurt you -- it’s not your fault. I’m not going to think any less of you if I see it. It’s going to make me mad, yeah -- at *her* -- and it’s going to upset me -- but only because I care what happens to you…and you’ve been violated…and you don’t deserve that.”

She paused, her voice growing quieter as she added, “I only want to help you, Spike. I’m not going to hurt you, or take advantage of you -- and I’m not going to blame you. I -- I know what it’s like to -- to be hurt. And if I can make it better for you -- in any small way -- that’s all I want to do. Okay?”

Her words were awkward, and halting, and not at all close to expressing all that she wanted to say.

But he could feel the words she had not been able to find.

As the warmth and unspeakable comfort of her affection and concern began to wash over him, Spike felt his reservations melting away, washed away with his freshly flowing tears.

“Okay,” he whispered, nodding, and closing his eyes again, even as he instinctively reached out and gripped one of her hands in a desperate, shaking grasp.

Tara’s task would have been easier with the use of both of her hands, but she knew that Spike needed the reassurance, so she did not pull her hand away, awkwardly unbuckling his belt with her free hand, and unzipping the jeans that he wore.

Reluctantly, as if realizing that the next part would be too difficult for her to do one-handed, Spike released her hand, drawing back his arm and laying it across his eyes, his fist clenched tightly, his body shaking with repressed sobs.

“It’s all right,” Tara reassured him softly, her hands stopping at his hips, hesitating before pulling the jeans down. “Are you -- are you okay? Is this okay, Spike? I won’t -- I won’t touch you unless…”

“It’s okay,” he rasped out, swallowing convulsively. “Do -- do what you have to, love, I trust you…”

She paused a moment longer, before nodding with grim certainty.

It had to be done.

She cautiously pulled the denim down off his hips, and Spike did his best to help, raising his hips off the bed with a little wince of pain at the effort. Tara did her best not to show any reaction to the horrific damage that had been inflicted on the vampire’s most sensitive areas.

The Slayer had taken savage, shocking liberties with him while he had been bound, gagged, and helpless at her mercy. His groin was a mass of dark purple bruises, and red, raw patches that looked like barely healing burns. His thighs were marked with deep cuts that were scabbed over, but still relatively fresh.

On the inside of his right thigh, the Slayer had clearly carved a jagged, angular “B” into his tender flesh.

It was all Tara could manage not to throw up, with disgust at the cruel damage the supposed heroine had done to her friend.

“I’ll kill her,” she whispered, and though Spike’s eyes were closed, he could feel the blood red fury rising within her aura again. “I’ll kill her for this.”


	17. Chapter 17

  
  


“I’ll kill her,” Tara said softly, her smoldering grey eyes darkened to the shade of charcoal as she took in the extent of the damage that had been done to her friend. “Spike, I swear, I’m gonna kill her for this…”

 

The vampire looked up at her, apprehension in his wide blue eyes. “Tara, love,” he whispered, shaking his head slowly, “don’t…don’t bloody mess with her, pet. She -- she’ll kill you…”

 

Tara huffed softly, her eyes narrowed in anger that sent a slight chill down Spike’s spine, even though he knew it was not directed at him. “She’ll try,” she countered softly.

 

Spike’s eyes widened in dismay at those words. “Tara,” he tried again. “Tara, you don’t understand how powerful she is…”

 

“Maybe she doesn’t understand how powerful *I* am!”

 

“I’m leaving town, love!” Spike insisted, his voice trembling slightly with his fear for his friend. “Just as soon as you’ve got me all patched up…so why take the chance? Why risk your safety when everything will be fine soon enough?”

 

Tara hesitated then, unable to come up with a reasonable answer.

 

“Please, Tara,” he urged her softly, reaching out a hand to take hers again. “Please -- don’t -- don’t take her on -- not when you don’t have to…” His voice softened slightly, taking on a humble tone of dismay that tore at the blonde witch’s heart, as he added, “…not for me…”

 

Tara’s expression softened, and she gently squeezed his hand as she sighed and relented, “Okay, Spike – don’t worry, I won’t, not unless I have to – but you do realize that you’re about the *only* person I would take on a psychotic vampire Slayer for, right? What’s this ‘not for me’ crap?”

 

Spike looked away, clearly a bit uncomfortable with her kind words, and her calling him on his own self-deprecation – which, in her opinion, was becoming all too frequent.

 

It was good that he was getting away from Buffy *now*, before it could become any worse.

 

Tara let it go, as she set about tending to his countless injuries, with a very mild healing spell. Cautiously, she allowed her hands to hover, just barely not touching his battered chest and stomach, as she murmured the quiet Latin words that would help to heal his broken body.

 

Spike closed his eyes and visibly relaxed, lulled into a peaceful sensation of warmth by the white magic that flowed out from her hands and into his wounds, gently healing them. Bruises faded away…burns so severe that they were nearly black grew red, then pink, and then healed completely before Tara’s eyes…and vicious cuts the Slayer had made in his flesh sealed up and vanished as she worked over him.

 

Finally, Tara was almost finished. All that was left of Spike’s injuries was that single carved “B” on his thigh – the deepest cut of all the ones Buffy had made.

 

Clearly, the Slayer had intended the marking to last.

 

“I can’t believe she did this,” Tara said softly, her tone darkening slightly, though she kept it calm, as she reached out a cautious, gentle hand to trace along the edge of the initial.

 

Spike suddenly jerked away from her hand with a little yelp of pain, as he scrambled up to a sitting position against the headboard, wild, panicked eyes meeting hers. “Don’t!” he gasped. “Tara, don’t touch it!”

 

Tara frowned, alarmed by his reaction. “What is it, Spike?” she asked him anxiously, moving in closer almost instinctively, though she made no further move to touch the injury. “Does it hurt that bad, Sweetie? I’m so sorry…”

 

“J-just don’t touch it, Tara,” Spike repeated, suddenly unwilling to meet her eyes. “Just let it be…”

 

Confused, Tara’s frown deepened as she argued quietly, “But – it’ll just take me a minute to make it go away completely, Spike. I promise it won’t hurt you – just let me…”

 

“*No*!” Spike snapped, his voice trembling as he slid toward the other side of the bed as if to get up. “I said don’t touch it!”

 

Tara’s eyes slowly narrowed, as she began to think that she understood his reaction – and a slow-burning anger began to build in her chest. “Why not?” she demanded calmly, rising to her feet as Spike stood up on the other side of the bed, and reached hurriedly for his pants. “Why don’t you want me to make it go away, Spike?”

 

“Just let it be, Tara,” Spike muttered, turning away from her as he pulled his jeans up and buckled his belt swiftly with trembling fingers.

 

“You *want* to keep her mark on you, Spike, is that it?” Tara pressed, unwilling to let the issue go so easily. “You’re willing to leave town – but you don’t want to sever *all* ties with her, do you?” Her tone was angry now, angry and frustrated that once again, Spike seemed unwilling to follow through with what was in his own best interest.

 

The mark didn’t matter so much; it would surely heal on its own in time.

 

The mindset that made him want to keep it, however – that would eventually kill him.

 

“It’s not about what I want,” Spike snapped back at her wearily. “Please, Tara, just – just let’s don’t talk about it, yeah?”

 

“But I *want* to talk about it!” Tara insisted, moving around the bed to block his path as he headed toward the door. Her eyes softened with concern as she tried her best to catch his averted gaze, reaching out a hand to touch his arm, even as he flinched backward away from her. “Spike,” she said in a gentler tone of voice, “Why won’t you let me make that go away? Why are you holding onto it?”

Spike was quiet for a long moment, not looking at her, bouncing nervously on his heels in his eagerness to escape this uncomfortable conversation. His jaw worked with emotion he was trying to repress, before he finally gave in with a shaky sigh and mumbled in a barely audible voice, “Because I haven’t got a bloody choice, love…”

 

Tara frowned. “What do you mean you haven’t got a choice?”

 

Spike finally met her eyes, and there was a resignation, and a deep-seated fear in his eyes, that nearly took Tara’s breath to see it.

 

“It *won’t* go away, Tara – no matter what magic you use to try and make it go away. It’s magic itself, love.”

 

Tara stared at him in disbelief, shaking her head slightly. “But – how…?”

 

“Even a Slayer can manage a simple bit of magic…simple, but bloody well foolproof from what I can tell,” Spike explained in a soft, subdued voice of quiet misery. “And – and she wanted me marked as hers. It’s permanent – it’ll heal up right good and proper…but it’ll scar…and…and you can’t try and change it with magic, love…”

 

Horrified at the extent to which the Slayer had gone to emphasize her possessive attitude toward the abused vampire, Tara just stared at him for a long moment in disbelief. Finally, she whispered, “Spike – how long’s it been since she…?”

 

“Just last night,” he replied quietly, his eyes downcast as he leaned back against the wall behind him with a heavy sigh. “It’s already starting to heal, love, don’t worry about it…”

 

“But – when I touched it, it seemed to hurt you so much…”

 

“If *anyone* touched it – anyone but her,” Spike explained, shame in his voice and his tear-filled eyes, “it’d hurt, love. That’s the nature of the thing. Anyone touches me – anywhere near it – it’s bloody painful. She – she wants to be sure I’m – I’m hers alone…”

 

Tara was silent for a long moment, just trying to process the extreme violation that had been inflicted on her friend. Finally, she looked up to meet his eyes again and said in a soft, even voice,

 

“Like I was saying – about going after Buffy if I *have* to…”

 

“You *don’t* have to!” Spike interrupted in a mixture of anger and fear, his piercing gaze locking onto hers in a mixture of a demand and a plea. “Tara, you promised…you can’t…I’m leaving, yeah? I’m leaving…”

 

“And she can’t – use this mark to hurt you, if you try to leave? Or – to make you come back?” Tara frowned, unconvinced.

 

“No,” Spike assured her, his gaze open and honest, willing her to see the truth. “It’s just – just to keep me – faithful to her. That’s all. It doesn’t have any other magical – properties, love.”

 

Tara searched his gaze a moment longer, before sighing in resigned acceptance of his words. “Okay,” she conceded quietly. “I won’t go after Buffy.” She paused a moment before adding, “Can’t say I’ll be going near any of the Scoobies, or the Magic Box for a while, either. Because I think if I see her I’ll have to slap her.”

 

Spike laughed in surprise at her unexpected announcement, and then met her eyes, sorrow and uncertainty visible past the small, tentative smile on his lips.

 

“Thank you – so much, love,” he said in a voice that was barely over a whisper. “You didn’t have to – to do any of this, for me. You – you’re a bloody good friend, Glinda.”

 

Tara felt her eyes well with tears, as she reached up a gentle hand to brush his cheek. “So are you,” she replied. “And I’ll always be your friend, Spike. If you ever need me – you have my number. Call me – okay? I’ll always be here for you.”

 

Clearing his throat as he tried to fight back his own tears, Spike blinked and looked away as he replied in a slightly gruff, throaty voice, “I’ll come back and see you…”

 

“No, you won’t,” Tara interrupted firmly, holding his gaze seriously. “It’s not safe for you to be here, Spike – even just for a little while. Not as long as she’s here. In fact – you really need to hurry, Sweetheart…”

 

Spike nodded his acceptance of her advice, before asking softly, “So – what did you have in mind, love? Seeing as the Slayer’s confiscated my means of transportation?”

 

“Buffy doesn’t even know I have a car,” Tara explained softly. “And I was about to buy a new one anyway…so…I want you to take it.”

 

Spike’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You can’t be bloody serious…”

 

“I am,” Tara stated firmly. “Take it, Spike. I want you to get out of here safely – and you can’t do that on foot, or in a stolen vehicle.”

 

“I can’t do that, love…” he protested, shaking his head.

 

“Yes, you can – and you will.” Tara’s voice was both gentle and unyielding at the same time. “You have to, Spike – there’s no other way.” She paused, but then cut him off when he seemed about to protest again. “She’ll kill you if you don’t get out, *now*.”

 

Spike was silent, studying her expression, until he seemed certain that she was not going to change her mind, no matter what argument he tried to use. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, and submitted to her wishes on the matter.

 

“Right, then. Off I go.”

 

Tara’s smile of elation and relief served to melt away his guilt and uncertainty over taking her transportation, and he returned her smile with growing confidence.

 

“Call me when you get settled somewhere,” Tara suggested softly. “We’ll keep in touch.”

 

“Okay,” Spike agreed readily, and she knew that he meant it, and would. A bit awkwardly, shyly, Spike leaned in and pressed a brief, chaste kiss to her cheek, pulling back to give her a grateful smile. “Thanks, love,” he whispered, his voice husky with tears.

 

Tara couldn’t see through her own, as she took her keys from her pocket and pressed them into his hand. “Anytime,” she whispered back – then abruptly looked away, clearing her throat. “You’d better go if you’re going,” she remarked softly, drawing back away from him – suddenly very much aware that the longer they drew this out, the more difficult it would be.

 

Suddenly – she couldn’t stand the thought of his not being there.

 

Finally, she forced herself to look up again, wanting to catch one last glimpse of her friend before he left.

 

But when she looked up – he was already gone.

 

*************************************

 

Spike was on the outskirts of Sunnydale when he remembered something vitally important, cursing quietly under his breath at the realization. He glanced down at the gauges on the dashboard, and then at the clock, wondering if he had time to return.

 

Buffy was working tonight, and would not get off for another half an hour at least.

 

It was very little risk, really – and no great chance to take...not when his beloved duster was concerned.

 

With a sigh of resignation, Spike turned the car around and headed back to his crypt, to get the one forgotten item that he could not leave without – the one reminder of the life he was leaving behind which he was not willing to leave in the past.


	18. Chapter 18

Spike turned off the lights of Tara’s car as he turned onto the road leading to Restfield Cemetery, allowing his vampire vision to guide him easily into the small parking lot used ordinarily by those attending funerals during daytime hours. At this late hour, the parking lot was empty, and he did not want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself.

All he wanted was to get in, get his duster, and get out.

He quietly closed the door to the car and made his way swiftly through the deserted cemetery to his own crypt. He didn’t bother to light any candles on his way down to his bedroom, where he knew the duster would be laid across his bed.

Buffy had told him not to wear it to the meeting that afternoon.

“You’re not the Big Bad, Spike,” she had sneered. “You’re pathetic. And honestly -- I don’t like your attitude when you wear that thing. So take it off!”

He had been frustrated, and insulted, and furious -- but he had taken it off.

*Not again,* he thought with a grim certainty, trying to ignore the fearful fluttering in his stomach at the thought of really leaving, and not coming back. *Can’t let her do it to me again…stay much longer, mate, and there won’t be anything left of you…*

He picked up the coat, his fingers running lovingly over the butter-soft leather as he raised it to his face, inhaling deeply of the scent of smoke and leather and whiskey.

*This is who you are, mate,* he reminded himself. *Can’t let her take it from you -- gotta go now, before it’s too late -- before you change your mind…*

Deliberately he squared his shoulders, drawing in a deep breath before shrugging into the coat and readying himself to go.

It was not an easy thing to do.

There was three years of history in this town -- three years of memories, mostly bad, but memories just the same, of events that had made him who he was. And then, there was Dawn -- the girl who had been his only friend in this town for a long time, although since he had started sleeping with her sister, he had not been allowed to see her much.

Of course, there was a part of him that found it hard to walk away from Buffy, in spite of the terrible things she had done to him -- a part of him that clung to her desperately, not so much for what had been between them, but for what he had always *hoped* might someday be.

Now he knew -- it never would.

And then -- there was Tara.

Over the past few weeks, the girl had come to mean more to him than all of the other things put together. He could not remember the last time that he had been so unconditionally accepted and cared for as he was now that Tara was in his life. Even Dru had never loved him quite like he had loved her; she had been willing to abandon him at a moment’s notice when her “Daddy” came back around.

And he knew now, beyond all doubt -- Buffy had never loved him.

But leaving Tara -- walking away from the sweet, unassuming friendship she had offered him -- that was going to be difficult.

*You have to go, now,* her voice echoed in his memory as he glanced toward the stairs. *If you don’t go now, you might never -- and she’ll kill you if you don’t, Spike.*

The choked sound of her tears in his memory, the vision of the betrayal and hurt in her eyes when she had realized that he had rejected her protection, reminded him of how much the blonde witch really did care about him -- and he found his own eyes welling with tears, as he realized that as hard as it was, he had to honor her wishes in this…and walk away.

He drew in another deep breath, as he headed up the ladder and into the moonlit upper level of the crypt -- no longer “his” crypt.

He would be seeking out a new place to call his own.

His feet had barely landed on the upper level, when he realized that something was off. It took him a moment to realize what it was -- the door was open, flooding the room with bright moonlight…and he had carefully shut it behind him.

The thought barely had time to register with him, before her scent hit him, sending a sharp tremor of alarm through him.

Buffy.

And then, she was behind him, far too close -- terrifyingly close -- one arm wrapped firmly around his waist, the other trailing down his side toward the spot she had marked on his thigh, her warm mouth gently kissing his throat.

“Hey, Baby,” she murmured between kisses, as she slowly maneuvered them around so that she was in front of him, and his back was to the nearest sarcophagus. “Whatcha doing here in the dark?”

Spike’s mind was racing, desperately reminding him that he had to act as if all was normal, all was just as it always was -- or he could end up dead. He hadn’t taken anything with him from his crypt but the duster -- which he remembered with a grimace that he was *not* supposed to be wearing -- but with any luck she might not notice it. She didn’t have to know that anything was any different than any other night she came to see him.

“Vampire, love,” he murmured, his voice low and husky with what he hoped sounded like desire. “I’m always in the dark.”

She pulled back then, one hand resting on his hip, the other trailing lower to trace along the edges of her initial through the denim of his jeans, her jade-darkened eyes glittering with malicious pleasure as he gasped at the burning sensation her touch sent radiating through the magical mark on his thigh, all through his entire body. He raised a hand as if to ward her off, as the sensation of mingled pleasure and pain began to overwhelm him with a sort of trembling weakness that was a combination of fear and need.

A low, throaty laugh bubbled up to escape her throat, as she caught his wrist in her free hand, and slowly bent him back over the sarcophagus, twisting his wrist around behind his back and holding it there, as she pressed harder on his inner thigh, inches from his suddenly swelling member, and leaned in to whisper seductively,

“Don’t think you’ve got the market cornered on darkness, Baby…I think I could show you a thing or two…”

Spike forced a laugh, though her words sent a tremor of fear slicing through the heady, hazy sensations created by her attentions to the brand she had placed on his body -- and was now using to further enslave him. “Reckon you could, love,” he agreed softly. “Reckon you already have…”

“But Spike,” Buffy whispered, her fingertips edging away from the mark to stroke over his rising erection through the thick fabric of his jeans, smiling when she drew another sharp gasp from his lips, “I’m just getting started.”

Spike felt his own unnecessary breath quickening with alarm, and hoped against hope that she would think it was due to arousal -- which was, admittedly, a close second at the moment.

*Just calm down, mate,* he urged himself silently, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back as he felt her agile fingers pulling his zipper down. *Just let her do what she wants to do -- think of it as one last time for old times’ sake -- and when she takes her leave -- then you can go. You just have to -- to get through the night…*

Suddenly, Buffy froze over him, the sudden stillness drawing him from his thoughts with a sick wave of apprehension. He looked up to see her glaring at him, her eyes narrowed angrily as she looked him over with an edge of disgust to her expression.

“I thought I told you I didn’t like you wearing that,” she said in a soft, deadly voice, eyeing his beloved duster.

Spike swallowed convulsively, his mind struggling to come up with a response that would satisfy her. “I-I’m sorry, love. I just thought -- you meant when you were here…and you weren’t…” He shrugged apologetically, not able to meet her eyes as he added softly, “It’s just that it’s -- so much a part of me -- I didn’t think it mattered when you -- you weren’t here.”

“Well -- I *am* here,” Buffy pointed out, a sly smile spreading across her face beneath her viciously sparkling eyes. “So why don’t you take it off.”

As she spoke, she pulled him slightly forward by the collar, away from the sarcophagus, and slid the coat down off his shoulders. He moved as if to let it fall to the floor, but before he could, she caught hold of the leather near the bottom of the coat, and with one quick motion twisted it around his arms a couple of times, binding them behind his back -- and then shoving him back against the sarcophagus again, his arms pinned uselessly behind him.

She smiled sweetly as he looked up at her in an alarmed question, shrugging her shoulders as she said softly, “On second thought -- you can leave it on. I kind of like it on you like this.”

“B-Buffy,” he whispered uncertainly. “Buffy, what…?”

“Shhh,” she whispered, her hand moving to grasp his erection again, her thumb stroking a slow, firm circle along the underside of it that made him bite back a moan at the sensation. “Just relax, Baby…what have you got to be worried about?”

That was when Spike realized that he had a *lot* to be worried about.

Panic seized him, and he struggled uselessly against the leather twisted around his arms, holding them behind him. Buffy’s expression hardened, as she twisted the piece of the coat still in her hand so that the rest of the garment tightened around his arms, at the same time pulling him backwards until his back was parallel with the sarcophagus, until he could barely move his bound arms at all.

She raised her free hand and brought it down across his face in a breath-taking backhand, before gripping his hair and leaning down to snarl softly in his face, “Do *not* fight me, Spike. Do you understand me?”

He froze at the command, nodding quickly, his eyes closed and his breath coming quick and shallow as he fought for control of his own rising fears. “Buffy,” he whispered breathlessly. “Buffy, please…”

“Shut up,” she snapped, shaking him slightly by the fist that was tangled in his hair, her voice hardening with a deadly quality. “Just shut up, Baby. All I want to hear from you right now -- is the answers to my questions. Is that clear?” As she finished, a tight, cruel smile twisted her features, as she jerked his head up and down in a mockery of a nod.

But he *was* silent, and she seemed satisfied for the moment.

“Good,” she softly remarked, her hand in his hair softening into a caress, even as her other hand released the leather of his coat, and returned to his vulnerable, exposed member, tightening painfully.

Spike bit back a cry of pain that he knew would only anger her, closing his eyes, struggling for what slight vestige of control he had left -- which was not much. The fact that she was no longer holding the coat taut did not mean that he had any more freedom -- not in the least. His arms, still tangled in the leather of the coat, were pinned between his body and the sarcophagus, and Buffy’s own legs were pressing in against his, leaving him no room to pull free, even if he tried.

And if he *had* tried -- she would have stopped him in a moment.

“Now,” Buffy was going on, running her fingers idly through his hair in a caricature of affection, a cruel smile on her lips betraying just how much she was enjoying his helplessness. “First off…” She leaned in close to whisper, her sharp gaze locking onto his wide, terrified eyes, “…where’d you get the car?”

Spike hesitated, his heart leaping up into his throat in sudden sick fear, not only for himself, but for Tara as well. All he knew in that moment was that Buffy could not find out that it was Tara’s car he had driven here, Tara who knew all their secrets and had planned with him to help him escape her.

He held her gaze for just a moment, before dropping his eyes as if in defeat. “Nicked it,” he said in a soft, subdued voice of fear. “From some bloke in town…left the keys in it…‘m sorry, Buffy…please…”

This time it was a powerful fist that cut off his words, slamming his head back against the stone sarcophagus again as her tight fist around the base of his erection twisted slightly, drawing a helpless sob of agony from his lips.

“I believe I was very clear with you on the rules, wasn’t I, Baby?” she said in a chillingly soft, calm voice, her eyes hard and pitiless as she glared down at him. The hand she had used to strike him now rested on his shoulder, pinning him back against the stone beneath him, while her other hand did not relent its vicious, painful pressure on his most sensitive parts. “You keep your stupid…mouth…shut, unless it‘s to answer my questions…right?”

Spike nodded, biting his lip until his mouth filled with his own blood, in a desperate attempt to hold back the scream of pain that was rising in his throat, threatening to spill out.

“But,” Buffy shrugged slightly, finally letting up a little, much to his relief, “I *will* give you points for an honest answer the first time. That was good of you. Now. I have one more question for you, and you had *better* tell me the truth. Because if you lie to me, Spike…”

Without warning she squeezed him brutally again, until he was choking on the desperate moan of anguish so severe that he could barely hold it back, and she finished in a voice barely over a whisper of menace.

“…I’ll take it right off…and you know I could…I wonder if it‘d grow back…?”

Spike shook his head desperately, tears of pain rolling down from his tightly closed eyes, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, from the lip he had bitten nearly through in his desperation.

“Okay,” Buffy said. “Here goes, the million dollar question, Sweetheart…” She leaned in close to him, grasping the hair on the top of his head and yanking his head backward, in a gesture clearly designed to expose his throat, and make him feel all the more vulnerable to her. “…just exactly how far were you planning on *taking* that car, Spike?”

A fresh wave of panic washed over Spike, as he realized that he had no answer prepared to explain what he was doing with the car -- no way to lessen or deflect her anger in any way.

He was caught.

“Buffy, I’m sorry!” he sobbed out in desperation, knowing somewhere in his mind that she already knew the answer to the question. “Please, don’t…please, I’m sorry…”

Her smile widened slightly, while becoming harder, angrier, and she nodded with a false sympathy and understanding. “That’s about what I thought,” she concluded, and his heart sank with the realization that she knew beyond all doubt what he had been doing with the car -- the only thing he *could* have been doing with the car.

He had been about to run from her.

And she had warned him about running from her.

“Still,” Buffy shrugged, shaking her head sadly. “Wrong answer.”

Her hand in his hair jerked his head forward, pulling him halfway up off the sarcophagus, before slamming him down hard, harder than any of her previous blows, cracking his head brutally against the stone beneath him -- and sending his world swirling into darkness -- a darkness that would only grow deeper when he awakened.


	19. Chapter 19

  
  


Tara stood outside the gates of Restfield Cemetery, in the throes of indecision -- and mentally berating herself for even being there in the first place.

*He's not there!* she reminded herself in the most severe mental voice she could muster. *Don't do this to yourself. It's stupid on so many levels -- Spike's gone, and you should be, too.*

There was no doubt in her mind that if she walked through those gates to the familiar crypt where Spike had lived for so long, she would find it abandoned, his furniture and other worldly possessions unused...well, for the single day in which he had been gone, anyway.

She had walked into the Magic Box that morning to find Buffy asking if anyone had seen him, explaining that she had gone by his crypt the night before -- for information only, of course -- only to find him missing. The look the Slayer had turned on her as she had coolly, casually asked her if she would have happened to have seen him had chilled Tara's blood with the well hidden menace that she had still perceived there.

But she had kept her composure as she had frowned with slight concern, and shook her head, telling Buffy that she had not seen him since the last Scoobie meeting when she had been shopping while the others were gathered around the table talking. She was fairly certain she had given no indication of the truth to Buffy -- and she had walked out of the shop elated that their plan had succeeded.

She knew that Spike had left town, if Buffy had not been able to find him. At any rate, if Spike had changed his mind about going -- as Tara had admittedly been afraid that he might -- he most certainly would have returned her car to her first, of that much she was sure.

Still, here she was, standing at the gates to the cemetery, actually contemplating going inside, in search of a friend that was a day gone -- only a day gone, and yet she already missed him so terribly.

*You won't find him,* she reminded herself as she set her jaw and turned resolutely away from the gates. *But if you don't get home, something else might end up finding you.*

She sighed with a regret that she knew was wholly selfish. She was glad that Spike had made the choice to escape with his unlife while he could -- really she was. It was what she had wanted, what she had insisted upon -- and she would much rather he was far out of her reach, and safe, than here with her, and in danger of his life from his psychotic pseudo-girlfriend.

But still, she could not help but wonder who would protect her from the monsters that *she* faced, now that he was gone.

*************************************

Spike awakened to a splitting headache, worse than those following his frequent benders over the summer when Buffy had been gone -- though not quite as bad as the ones caused by his chip's most severe firings.

He gradually became aware, as memory returned to him, that it was the pain of a severe blow to a block of concrete with the back of one's head.

A sudden panic gripped him at that thought, as the memories of that night flooded back to him, and he tried to open his eyes -- only to realize that they were open already...and yet, he could not see. He tried to move, but found his progress impeded, his arms stretched above his head so tightly and so high that his feet barely touched the ground beneath him, and certainly left no room to take even a single step in any one direction.

These realizations only added to his panic, even as some part of his mind was screaming at him to calm down, to think the situation through, if he was ever going to get out of it. He struggled uselessly against the bonds that held him for a few moments, before going limp against the chains at his wrists, breathing hard as he tried to slow down for a moment and *think*.

*Buffy.*

Of course, Buffy had done this to him -- which meant she had to be nearby -- didn't she?

He tried to call out to her -- and found that that action was impossible as well. And *that* was a sensation, finally, that he fully recognized -- the round, uncomfortably stretching sensation of the ball gag, filling up his mouth and preventing him from crying out, from making much sound at all, really.

Desperate to escape, to speak, or even just to see -- just to have anything but the complete helplessness, the darkness and disorientation that surrounded him, Spike turned his head to the side, rubbing his face against his own taut, painfully strained arm in an attempt to dislodge the blindfold that covered his eyes. It shifted slightly, but did not come off, so he made a second attempt.

It was in that moment that Buffy made her presence known.

His head was suddenly jerked backward, and he felt her fist gripping the knot in the back of the blindfold, loosened but not undone by his efforts.

"Unh-uh-uh," she softly, almost playfully rebuked him, her quiet voice in his ear making him flinch and swallow convulsively as she jerked his head back harder. "None of that, Sweetheart. I put this on you because I *want* it on you -- and if you try to get it off again, I might just have to find a more permanent way of blinding you...does that sound like fun?"

Spike shook his head hurriedly, his throat going dry at the threat that he knew she was more than capable of carrying out. She wanted him fully in her power -- he knew that much by now -- and if he did not give her that much, he knew that she would find a way to take it.

"Good," she said softly, and he could hear the nod of approval in her tone. "Now -- do you know why you're here, Sweetheart?"

Spike hesitated just a moment, before nodding cautiously.

"Because you tried to leave me," Buffy answered her own question patiently, releasing her grip on the blindfold and allowing his head to fall forward, just before he felt both of her hands on the string at the back of it, and the rough leather went uncomfortably tight against his eyes again.

"And I'm going to make sure," Buffy went on, trailing her hands slowly from his sides, just under his up-stretched arms, all the way down to his hips, "that you *never* try it again."

Spike flinched as her touch drifted lower, her hands gliding lightly across the bare flesh of his bottom, and he realized with shame and fear that he was absolutely naked -- completely exposed to her every whim. She trailed a fingertip along the line between his buttocks, as she leaned in close behind him and allowed her other hand to explore in even more personal ways.

And that was when Spike realized that he had another problem.

At some point before he had fully regained consciousness, the Slayer had managed to tease his semi-erect member to full attention -- and the tight constriction he felt at the base of it told him that another of her favorite toys was in use...a black leather cock ring that she had always taken great pleasure in using on him, forcing him to wait for his release until she saw fit to give it to him.

Sometimes she had waited hours, while she amused herself in his crypt, watching television or painting her nails.

This time -- he had a feeling that it could likely be longer.

He could not help a strangled moan of discomfort as she stroked her fingers boldly along the underside of his unwilling erection; and he heard an answering low chuckle against his ear, expressing her pleasure at his helpless position.

"You're mine, Spike," she informed him softly, closing her fist around his swollen member painfully, causing his back to arch slightly, his head falling back against her as a pleading, muffled moan left his lips. "And the sooner you get that through your head -- the sooner I *know* you understand that completely -- the sooner you'll get out of this. Do you understand?" As she spoke, she tightened her grip just slightly, her voice hardening with a dangerous edge.

Spike nodded hurriedly, desperately, and she finally released him, allowing him to slump against the chains at his wrists, as she moved away from him, granting him back his personal space -- for the moment.

He would soon find that as far as she was concerned, there was no such thing as personal space -- not for him, anyway.

He jumped slightly when he felt her hands on his shoulders, and she softly shushed him, steadying him before raising her hands to unbuckle the thick strap of the gag in his mouth. Before she removed it, however, she jerked his head back again, whispering in a voice of chilling menace in his ear.

"If you make a sound...speak without my permission...I'll put this right back, and it'll be a week before I come down here again. Is that perfectly clear, Baby?"

Spike nodded, swallowing hard, steeling himself to do his best to obey, despite the insane, helpless desire to scream, to cry out for mercy, the moment his mouth was free to do so.

*Keep it shut, mate,* he urged himself in a warning tone. *Don't give her anything else to use against you -- ‘cause you bloody well know she's got enough as it is!*

Cautiously the Slayer removed the gag from his mouth, but he could feel her hand hovering over his lips for a moment, just in case he should decide to disobey her commands.

"Good boy," she said softly after a moment, lowering her hand. "I think you're starting to get it, aren't you?"

Spike nodded hesitantly, uncertain how he was expected to respond. All he wanted at this point was to play her little game to her satisfaction, to pass her little test like all the times before, so that she would let him go.

And when she did, he swore silently, he would stop for nothing on his way out of Sunnydale forever.

"Okay," Buffy continued calmly, and he could feel the heat of her body as she moved in close in front of him, her hands resting on his hips and pulling him slightly toward her. "You're not going to scream. You're not going to call out for help. You're going to speak when I tell you that you can speak -- and that's all. Do you understand?"

Spike hesitated -- and one of those soft hands fell with the force of steel across his trembling mouth. He bit back a cry of pained surprise, knowing it would only serve to further enrage her, as she grabbed his hair and leaned in close to explain in an overly patient voice.

"Maybe you didn't quite get this -- but if I ask you a question, that's pretty much a given that I expect an answer. That's automatic permission to speak. Is that clear, Spike?" There was no missing the pointed edge on the question.

Spike swallowed hard as he gasped out in a whisper, "Y-yes...yes, Buffy..."

"Good," she soothed him softly, releasing his hair and running her hand affectionately down his back to rest on his rear. "Now we're starting to get somewhere...so..." He could almost hear the casual shrug of her shoulders as she asked quietly, "Do *you* have any questions for *me*? Not guaranteeing that I'll answer them, of course -- but feel free to ask."

Spike could hardly believe his ears. His mind raced, trying to determine how best to make use of this unexpected opportunity.

Finally he ventured in a quiet, subdued voice, so as not to make her think that he was trying to be heard by anyone but her, "Wh-where are we?"

"That's one of those questions you don't get the answer to right now," she replied without hesitation. "Anything else?"

Spike swallowed hard, swallowing his disappointment at that as he asked his next -- and ultimately much more important -- question. "Buffy, h-how -- how can I show you that I'm sorry? How can I -- what can I do to -- to get you to forgive me? I-I'm so sorry, love..."

Her fist came down again across his face, silencing his trembling words, as she pulled his lower body in close to her with both hands on his rear, leaning in to smirk against his ear, "That's not a question, Sweetie -- and therefore not allowed. Looks like I'm going to have to punish you." She let him go, stepping away from him, and he heard her call casually over her shoulder as she moved to some point across the room, "And as for your question -- I'll let you know when you get there, ‘kay?"

Suddenly, she was back, and Spike flinched at the feel of smooth leather against his cheek, his chin, as she trailed it teasingly along his skin, and with a sick sensation in the pit of his stomach, he recognized the feel and scent of one of his own belts.

"Now," she continued softly. "Anytime you make a sound, I'm gonna add on to your punishment. If you say a word -- I'll add onto it double. The first thing you're gonna do to make it up to me is to stand there and take this like the worthless little piece of garbage you are. And if you do that to my satisfaction, then *maybe* we'll talk about letting you down. Okay?"

Spike set his jaw, though he was trembling, struggling to keep control of himself, knowing what she was about to do. It wouldn't be the first time she had beaten him; he could do this, he knew he could. He nodded shakily, whispering his response in case the nod was not sufficient for her, "O-okay."

Buffy stepped back away from him, and silence fell in the room, until he almost wondered if she was even there anymore, except for the scent of her that seemed to surround him.

And then, the first blow fell.

Spike was suddenly quite certain that all the times before when she had used his own belt on him, she had been really nothing more than playing. Each blow created a fiery welt of pain across his bare back, legs, buttocks, coming just far enough apart to allow him to nearly recover from one before the next would fall.

It took a supreme effort of will -- but Spike managed not to make a sound the entire time.

He focused on keeping quiet, on keeping still and submissive, on counting the blows as they fell -- because surely she could not go on forever.

One hundred and fourteen blows later, the Slayer finally stopped, and he heard with relief as the leather fell against the concrete floor.

"Very good," she said in a gentle, soothing voice, as she returned to his side, running a careless hand down the red, welted flesh of his back, deliberately grazing her nails across it, laughing softly when he jumped, but did not make a sound. "I'm impressed, Baby."

His entire body, already shaking with pain and exhaustion, fell into shudders of relief as he felt her hands on the chains above his head, releasing them from the chain that held them to the ceiling. When the chain came free, Spike found that his body no longer had the strength to hold him up, and he collapsed to the floor on his knees, his face to the floor, gasping for breath.

He cringed when he felt her crouching behind him, her hands on him again, reaching around his torso toward his wrists, but he dared not pull away from her. He was barely aware of what she was doing as she unchained his wrists, and then in one swift motion pulled them behind his back and chained them together again.

Spike had barely had an instant to realize that his arms were free before they were bound again -- and besides, he was in no condition to defend himself, anyway.

He bit back a yelp of pain as she suddenly shoved him over onto his back on the floor, his chained wrists uncomfortably pinned under him, the metal and his own flesh pressing painfully against his torn and bruised back.

"Shhh," she warned him softly, running the back of one hand across his lips. "Quiet, Sweetheart. I don't want to have to gag you again."

Spike bit his lip, willing himself to obey -- willing her to stop, and this to be over, and himself to finally be free.

It was not to be -- not that night.

His heart sank as the Slayer climbed onto him, roughly dragging his broken flesh against the rough stone floor beneath him. She rode him without mercy, taking her pleasure of him as roughly as she ever had, with no regard for his pain -- or his pleasure, as the cock ring stayed firmly in place throughout, leaving him desperate and aching and in terrible pain when she was finished.

"Good boy," she murmured with a throaty chuckle of satisfaction, as she collapsed to the side off of him, caressing her hand idly up his stomach to his chest, circling a nipple with her fingertips and smirking as his throbbing member jumped within its bondage. "You're catching on quick. I think you'll learn your lesson a little sooner than I thought you would."

Spike felt his hopes sinking with those words, as he heard her rise to her feet beside him, and then he was roughly yanked to his feet. His back, his legs, exploded in agony as the welts the belt had created were twisted and torn by the movement. He felt as if he would pass out again, his entire body a single mass of pain, but the Slayer's strong arms held him up, guiding him blindly a few steps, before she stopped him.

And she raised his bound wrists above his head again.

Dismayed, frightened, Spike found himself speaking before he could stop himself. "Buffy," he whispered. "Buffy, please...you said..." He bit off the words suddenly, remembering his mistake.

But she did not call him on it -- not right then.

"What?" she pressed him gently, an indulgent sound to her voice. "What did I say, Sweetheart?"

"Y-you said...if I...if I did what you asked...you'd...we'd..."

"Talk about it?" she finished for him, a deceptive gentleness to her voice as she locked the chains into place above his head with an echoing finality that sent a cold dread to his heart. "We're talking about it," she shrugged, and he winced, biting back a cry of pain as he felt her hand mockingly squeeze his wounded rear end, and she remarked flippantly, "And I've decided not to let you down. Not yet. You've got to earn it, Sweetie -- and you *so* haven't."

She replaced the gag, while Spike's traumatized body fell into shudders of agony and fear, helpless to prevent her. He could not protest, could not escape, as she stopped before him again, and he could feel her piercing gaze on him, in the moment before she suddenly seized his swollen, aching member, twisting it mercilessly and causing him to sob with agony against the silencing gag in his mouth.

She leaned in close to his ear so that he could clearly hear her in spite of his pain, as she snarled softly, "And I never said you could talk. Get it right, Baby, if you ever want to get out of here."

He was barely aware of her retreating footsteps on a nearby staircase, as she left him alone to his own suffering and fear.

*********************************

 

"What's with the padlock?"

Buffy turned toward her sister's questioning gaze, as she fastened the lock securely in place on the outside of the basement door, smiling innocently at Dawn's wondering frown.

"Going a little extreme with the hiding of Christmas presents?" Dawn guessed lightly, smiling teasingly at her sister. The youngest Summers knew better than that; money had been tighter than tight lately, and there was no way she was getting anything worth hiding so carefully this year.

That is, if Buffy remembered her long enough to get her a present at all.

"Not quite," her sister admitted. "Giles sent me this really weird, kinda technical weapon...and it tends to...well, go off easy...He was really specific about keeping it under lock and key. He said he'll send me instructions on how to use it, but not to let anybody touch it but me. So..." she shrugged. "Hence the childproofing."

"Not a child," Dawn replied almost automatically, taking another spoonful from her bowl of ice cream.

"Noted," Buffy shot back lightly as she left the room.

Dawn pondered the lock on the door with mild curiosity as she finished her ice cream, rinsed the bowl, and then headed upstairs to her room to do homework -- completely unaware of the miserable prisoner, alone and chained in the basement of her mother's house.


	20. Chapter 20

The back half of Spike’s body felt as if it was on fire.

He had no idea how much time had passed since Buffy had left him in this underground room -- wherever he was. It could have been hours, or days -- felt like weeks. She had not returned, and he was gradually reaching the point where his hunger was beginning to compete with the searing pain in his back and legs.

He was exhausted, in pain, and terrified, knowing that there was no way he could even begin to think of escape as long as he was so weak and in so much pain; and there was no way that he could even begin to heal, as long as he was kept down here without blood. And there was one dark thought that kept circling in his mind, filling his heart with a heavy sense of dread.

He would be kept down here -- without the blood he needed to heal -- as long as Buffy wanted to keep him here.

By now his throat was so dry with thirst that he could barely get out a sound, even the muffled, useless sounds he had been able to manage before around the gag. He probably could have dislodged the blindfold, given himself some idea of where he was -- but he had easily made the decision that that simple, possibly useless piece of information was certainly not worth Buffy’s fury when she eventually came back and found him without the blindfold.

He had barely slept, unable to truly relax at all in the uncomfortable position he was bound in, kept awake by the pain and hunger that ravaged his body, not to mention the intense discomfort caused by the painfully tight piece of leather that bound his unwanted erection, refusing to allow him the release that by now, he desperately needed.

Finally, exhaustion began to take over, and he found himself drifting in and out of a restless sleep filled with dark dreams that might as well have been his reality.

A soft, warm hand closed firmly around his arm, pulling him slightly backward -- and Spike came fully awake in an instant, instinctively jerking away from the gently restraining grip.

Immediately, that grip became far less than gentle.

Buffy’s other hand locked around his throat, yanking his damaged, sensitive body back against hers as she snarled in his ear, “You know better than to pull away from me, Spike!”

Every nerve in his body was on fire in one way or another, screaming out in agony as the raw, torn places on his back brushed against the coarse fabric of her shirt -- or taut with terror and begging for flight that was denied him. Somehow, Spike managed to fight back the panic, his body going utterly rigid -- but perfectly still -- in her cruel hands.

“That’s it,” she spoke softly into his ear, her voice deceptively soothing. “Relax, Sweetie -- I’m not gonna hurt you. Not unless you give me a reason. Okay?”

Spike nodded quickly, his head leaning back against her shoulder, as she released his throat and stretched up on her tiptoes to reach the chain that bound his wrists above his head.

All at once the strain and tension of his upraised arms vanished, as the chain was released, and Spike found to his misfortune that his exhausted, weakened legs could not support the weight of his own body. He would have fallen to the floor, but with her hand on his arm, and her other falling to wrap around his waist, he collapsed back against her instead -- and let out a nearly silent, painfully dry scream of agony as his back scraped against the buttons on Buffy’s shirt.

His back arched in pain, and once more he nearly collapsed, the Slayer’s strength holding him up for a moment, before she crouched down on the floor, carefully lowering him to his knees as she did, and letting him go, allowing him to fall forward with his face to the floor.

“Awww,” she said in a voice that sounded like sincere sympathy, but was contradicted by the casually cruel brush of her fingertips up the length of his spine. “You’re in pretty bad shape, aren’t you, Baby?”

Spike shuddered, wincing in anguish at the aggravation of her touch against his severely abraded skin, but not daring to move at all.

“If I take the gag off you,” Buffy asked calmly, running her fingers slowly, idly, through his hair. “Can you keep your mouth shut?”

It took him a moment to process what she had said through the pain and terror of her very presence, but he finally nodded weakly, not raising his face from the floor.

“Okay…” The Slayer’s voice held a warning note, as she reached her hands up to unbuckle the gag. “…but if you make me regret this…you’ll look back on the way you feel right now…as a pleasant memory. Is that clear, Sweetheart?”

Spike nodded again, swallowing hard as she removed the gag from his mouth and laid it aside. He swallowed again, almost convulsively, his mouth trying desperately to moisten his dry, irritated throat, and then gave up the attempt, drawing in several deep, gasping breaths as he struggled to calm himself.

“You hungry?”

Spike felt his heart lurch within him at the question, wondering wildly what the trick to it was -- what she would require of him to soothe the hunger that she had to *know* was raging within him at this point. Slowly, hesitantly, he nodded again, not raising his head.

“I thought so,” she said, that false sympathy that sounded so near to true once again in her voice, as she ran her fingertips idly down his side, smoothing her palm over his bare, bruised bottom, and then resting it there in a carelessly possessive gesture that made him fight back a scream of pain. “I’ve got blood for you, Sweetheart,“ she informed him softly, drawing his attention immediately from his pain with the fragile promise of her words. “I’m just wondering…” she went on in a slow, devious sort of voice, “…if you’re ready to earn it.”

Spike felt his face flush with shame at the implications of her words, of her hand still resting on his body in a way that was far more personal than he was comfortable with at the moment. He hesitated, his pride warring with his hunger and desperation to escape this horrible situation he had somehow found himself in. He knew that the suggestion she was making placed him in the realm of a slave -- no, worse than a slave…a *whore*.

“Yeah -- but you’re *my* whore,” the Slayer whispered next to his ear in a tone of malicious mockery.

Spike flinched violently, caught off guard by her sudden closeness, as well as the frightening realization that he had unknowingly been whispering his thoughts aloud.

*Told me not to talk…bloody hell…no…she’s gonna…she’ll kill me…stupid, stupid…*

He steeled himself for more pain, as he sensed her backing off a bit, heard the sounds of her rising to her feet, her footsteps moving around until she was standing directly in front of him. She was quiet for a long moment, and without realizing that he had, Spike stopped breathing completely, his body trembling all over with apprehension, dreading the reaction he expected from her -- wishing he knew *what* to expect from her.

“So?” she said softly after a moment, and he could picture her standing there, one eyebrow raised expectantly, her arms crossed over her chest. “Are you going to earn your breakfast or not?”

Spike hesitated for just a moment, before nodding slowly in defeat, glad for the blindfold that kept his tears of shame from her sight.

“Good,” she said in a voice of soft approval -- before her voice hardened and she ordered coldly, “Get up on your knees.”

Shaking, Spike barely managed to push himself up on his bound hands in front of him, until he was kneeling in front of her, uncertain as to what to do next. Of course, he *knew* what to do next -- but he dared not act without her permission, her order, for fear of angering her and losing what little chance he had of the nourishment he needed -- and eventual escape.

His sense of smell told him that she had raised her skirt -- a moment before she caught hold of his hair and jerked his head forward under it, jarring his injuries painfully.

The Slayer let out a gasp of pleasure at the first contact, her hand fisting tightly in his hair, forcing his face closer to her, thrusting slightly forward against his mouth.

“Spike,” she whispered breathlessly after a moment, her firm hand indicating to him that he was not to stop, “you even think of biting me…”

He jumped when he felt her foot slide up his leg, spreading her legs further -- though that was not her purpose. She pressed her foot lightly against his swollen, throbbing erection now resting just above his knees, pressing just hard enough to elicit a strangled moan of pain from Spike’s lips.

She suddenly jerked him back for a moment, smiling down at his terrified expression, his trembling mouth, making his fear obvious to her despite the fact that his eyes were hidden.

“But you wouldn’t do that -- would you, Sweetie?”

Spike shook his head rapidly, wincing as she increased the pressure just slightly, and gasping out in a desperate whisper, “No, Buffy -- no, please…”

“Shut up,” the Slayer snapped, shoving his head back between her legs again, moaning out her pleasure as he did his best to please her.

He didn’t know how he was possibly accomplishing it.

His mouth was painfully dry, his lips cracked and bleeding, and he felt that his strongest efforts, today, were pitifully weak -- not to mention the fact that his heart was nowhere close to being into the action he was being forced to perform. Even as he did his best to please her, employing every trick he had learned in a hundred and twenty years, Spike felt his heart sinking with the firm conviction that in the end, she would throw him aside, chain him up again with nothing, for failing to meet her demands.

But he *did* manage to accomplish it -- and with the breaking of the Slayer’s swell of pleasure, something broke within him, a single word echoing through his mind again and again, accusing, deriding, in a voice that sounded very much like hers.

*Whore.*

Even as her release engulfed her, Buffy did not ease the grip she held on his hair, did not remove her foot from its threatening position against the evidence of his own desperate need. As she gradually came back to herself, he heard a low, throaty chuckle of satisfaction leave her throat.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” she remarked in a tone of avid appreciation. “And you wonder why I’d never let you go!”

Spike swallowed back a sob, squeezing back tears behind the blindfold that chafed his face, not daring to speak a word -- knowing that anything he would have had to say would have earned him no less than a slap in the face.

Buffy crouched down in front of him, her warm hand firmly encircling his engorged member, eliciting a trembling gasp from his lips.

“You want me, don’t you?” she sneered close to his ear, her hand slowly pumping against his sensitive, swollen flesh, forcing him to bite back a cry of distress, desperate to keep quiet as she had ordered.

Knowing what she expected of him, he nodded rapidly, desperately.

“See?” she whispered viciously, her thumb applying more intense pressure as she gripped his hair and jerked his head back, her warm breath falling against his throat as she went on, “Chained up -- my prisoner -- at my mercy -- and you still want me so bad you can’t stand it.” She smiled against his skin, kissing a soft line up his throat to his lips, before adding in a voice barely over a breath, “You *are* a whore.”

She released him suddenly, all at once, leaving him aching for her to complete what she had started -- and hating himself for his own need, that was beyond his control.

“I’m going to get your blood now, Sweetheart. If you move while I’m gone,” she suddenly said, her voice all at once hard and dangerous again, “even a single inch, Spike -- you’ll get nothing when I come back. *Nothing*. Do you understand?”

Spike nodded. “Y-yes,” he whispered, remembering what she had said about answering questions.

Without another word, she turned and left up the stairs he had heard her use the last time she had been down here -- wherever “here” was. Minutes later, she returned with a thermos of warm pig’s blood, which she carefully helped him to drink, without freeing his wrists.

As she did, she spoke to him with a gentleness he had not seen in her since this ordeal had begun.

“You’re mine, Spike,” she told him softly, running her fingers affectionately through his hair as he drank gratefully from the thermos. “You’re mine -- and I’ll never let you go. By rights, I should kill you, Spike. You’re lucky that I keep you around at all.” She leaned in close, whispering with a brush of her lips against his skin that was almost a kiss, “You know you’re only good for one thing…”

Spike nearly gagged on the blood he was drinking at those words, and Buffy laughed softly.

“You’re going to know that, before I’m done with you. You’re going to learn that you belong to *me*. And the only way you’re going to get *anything* you need…blood…freedom…sex,” she smirked, and he felt the heat of shame in his face, “the only way you’re going to survive from day to day at all, Spike -- is by doing every…little…thing…I…say…”

Spike shuddered at the dark possessive tone of her voice, the certainty he heard in it of what she was saying, as the realization hit him again with a wave of overwhelming sickness and fear.

She really meant to do this to him.

And she *could*.

When she chained him up again from the ceiling a few minutes later, gagging him again and leaving him by way of the stairs -- Spike could not physically collapse, not with his body held taut by the painful restraints.

But inside -- he was broken, still kneeling on the floor, shaken by deep sobs of shame and despair.

************************************

 

“What are you doing tonight?”

Tara blinked in surprise, her hand nervously clutching the telephone receiver a bit tighter, as she tried to decide how best to respond.

Her heart had nearly pounded out of her chest when she had recognized Buffy’s phone number on the caller ID -- and her fear had only been slightly eased when she had picked it up, and found that it was Dawn on the other end of the line.

“Um -- nothing,” she answered uncertainly. “W-why?”

“Well -- I was just wondering if maybe -- I mean -- we haven’t exactly done our -- Milkshake and Movie Night for a while…” The insecurity in the younger girl’s voice pulled at Tara’s heart, wearing down her resistance, though she knew that getting together with Dawn was not probably the wisest thing she could do, all things considered.

“Well -- I know,” she slowly admitted. “And I miss it, too, Dawnie -- but -- I don’t know. I don’t want Buffy to -- to feel bad, you know? If we s-spend too much time together?”

“Please!” Dawn huffed, and Tara could hear the bitterness and hurt in her slightly trembling voice. “Like she’d even notice. It’s not like she ever spends any time with me anyway.” She was quiet for a moment, before finally adding in a voice barely over a whisper, and with a pleading note to it that Tara could not deny, “Please?”

Tara sighed, closing her eyes for a moment and lowering her head in defeat. “Okay,” she said. “What time can I pick you up?”


	21. Chapter 21

“Thank God,” Dawn muttered, rolling her eyes as she opened the passenger side door to Tara’s car, almost before it had stopped rolling into the driveway. “I couldn’t stand another minute in that house with *her*.”

The distasteful, resentful way she said the last word was slightly amusing, but more than a little unsettling to Tara. Amusing, because in a way it sounded like such a typical reaction of a teenager to their older sibling, especially an older sibling who had been thrust into a position of authority over her.

But on the other hand -- the things Tara knew about Buffy made Dawn’s desire to be away from her more than a little troubling in her mind.

*Buffy would never hurt Dawnie,* she told herself firmly. *Spike -- Spike was different -- Buffy thought she could get away with it because he’s a vamp -- but not Dawnie. She *died* to save Dawnie, there’s no way she’d…*

“Well -- you’re quiet.”

Tara shook herself out of her thoughts, glancing up at Dawn for a moment, and then back to the windshield -- almost surprised to see that she had already started driving in the direction of the movie theater on Main Street.

“Sorry, Dawnie,” she said with a soft, apologetic smile. “Just -- drifting, I guess. I’ve got -- a -- a lot on my mind, lately.” She laughed ruefully as she glanced at the girl again, meeting her eyes for just a moment before focusing her own back on the road. “Guess I need this movie night as much as you do, Hon.”

“Looks like,” Dawn grinned, glancing back at the windshield. She paused for a moment, silent, before glancing back at Tara hesitantly. “You know you could -- talk about it. If you want to.” When Tara did not look at her, she shrugged slightly, going on, “I mean -- you’re always sitting there listening to *my* problems -- I just want you to know -- I mean…I know I’m just a kid, but…I can be a pretty good listener…”

Tara smiled at her again, a little sadly, as she sighed, “Maybe someday, Dawn. Not -- not today, though…”

Dawn studied her expression for a moment longer before nodding her acceptance and looking straight ahead again. “Boy, we’re just a barrel of laughs,” she remarked dryly after a moment.

Strangely, it was that comment that managed to pull a genuine giggle out of Tara, and it was her answered, mildly sarcastic, “Aren’t we always?” that brightened Dawn’s expression, as she smiled and shook her head in good-natured defeat.

This was the third time since Spike had left town that Tara had come by the house to pick Dawn up, taking the younger girl out somewhere fun and relaxing, where she could just get away from the house -- from her sister -- for a little while. Tara did not actually come inside when she came to pick her up, not really wanting to come face to face with Buffy any time soon.

The first time, she had called Dawn from her cell phone and told her to come outside.

The other two times, Dawn had been waiting, out the door before she even had time to call. Slightly suspicious, Tara had asked Dawn if Buffy even knew she was going at all, and Dawn had informed her flatly that Buffy didn’t really seem to care what she did lately. She had told her older sister that she was “going out” and Buffy had barely acknowledged her with a nod, let alone asked where she was going.

Tara decided that it was just as well, as she really didn’t want to face Buffy, and Dawn clearly needed a little companionship.

“Did you like the movie?” Tara asked the younger girl as they walked out of the theater a couple hours later.

Dawn shrugged. “I guess.”

Tara was silent a moment, before asking a second question, a sort of wry, almost sad amusement in her voice. “Do you even remember what it was about?”

Dawn glanced up at her, mildly surprised that the older girl had noticed her distraction, before shrugging slightly and responding, “There were people. I’m -- pretty sure there were people.” She nodded with exaggerated thoughtfulness, as she added, “And there might have been a talking dog. Was there a talking dog?”

Tara grinned at her as they made their way across the street to the little outdoor burger stand where they usually got milkshakes after the movie. “Yes,” she nodded. “There was a talking dog.”

“Good,” Dawn sighed with relief. “I was afraid for a minute there I might be actually losing my mind.”

“What’s wrong?” Tara asked, as they sat down at a small circular table with a large sun umbrella over it. “I mean -- besides the usual unpleasantness lately. You seem like something specific is bothering you today.”

Dawn was quiet for a moment, opening and closing the paper menu that neither of them would be using, staring at it intently, a slight frown of thought creasing her brow.

“I don’t know,” she finally shrugged. “It’s just -- I want to think that everything’s all right -- but something seems -- off lately, you know?”

“With Buffy?” Tara asked, cautiously seeking clarification. If that was what Dawn meant, then she was pretty sure that she understood.

“Yeah,” Dawn nodded, still not looking at her. “I mean -- you know she’s been weird ever since -- since she came back. But -- lately it’s -- different.”

“Different -- how, Dawnie?” Tara pressed her gently when she stopped talking, a fearful fluttering beginning in her stomach as she silently prayed that her assumptions about Buffy not being willing to hurt her sister had been right. “What do you mean?”

“Well -- this past week -- it’s like she doesn’t even realize I’m here, you know? She’s so -- distracted, and -- just weird…”

“Upset?” Tara suggested, frowning. It would make sense if Buffy was upset, she thought with a flare of righteous anger, considering that she’d just lost her favorite punching bag.

“No,” Dawn shook her head as she slowly replied. “Actually, not upset at all. She almost seems -- happier. It’s just -- she used to always be so strict, so protective, about what I did, where I went. Now it’s like -- she doesn’t even care. I try to talk to her, and she gets all evasive, and she’s got this like…weird smile…”

“Weird smile?” Tara echoed, puzzled -- and increasingly concerned.

“Yeah,” Dawn nodded, finally meeting her gaze. “I know that sounds funny -- but it’s almost like -- she’s not really listening to what I’m saying, what I’m saying doesn’t really matter -- ‘cause she’s got this secret thing that’s got her always going around humming and happy and stuff. It just -- has nothing to do with *me*.”

Tara felt her heart soften even further toward the girl at those words. Although Dawn was obviously not quite expressing herself as well as she wanted to, Tara understood what she was saying. Although Dawn had often complained about Buffy’s strictness before, it seemed that now, she missed being the focus of her sister’s world.

And Tara could not help but wonder, with a strange sense of foreboding -- what had recently taken the girl’s place at the forefront of her sister’s mind?

“You know,” Dawn went on softly, almost as if she had read Tara’s thoughts, “I never thought I’d actually *miss* her whole over-protective act, you know? It always made me mad before when she’d tell me I couldn’t go here or I couldn’t do that…” She paused, swallowing hard, an expression of pain in her eyes as she added just above a whisper, “Now…I just wish she cared *what* I did -- you know?”

Tara nodded, reaching a sympathetic hand across the table to cover Dawn’s.

“I care, Dawn,” she reminded her simply. “I -- I know it’s not the same -- not nearly good enough -- but I *am* here for you.”

Dawn gave her a grateful smile, blinking back tears in her eyes, before looking down and replying softly, “Thank you. But -- I guess you’re about the only one who is, lately. Buffy’s all -- weird, and Xander and Anya are all with the wedding plans…Giles left, and Willow…” She glanced sharply up toward Tara apologetically. “…sorry…”

“It’s okay,” Tara shook her head, dismissing the remark with a smile that was a bit forced, although it did not look it to Dawn. “Go ahead…”

“Well…everybody’s got their own stuff going, except you. Even Spike…”

Tara frowned slightly, looking up at the girl sharply, wondering how much, if anything, she knew about the situation. “Spike?” she repeated leadingly.

“Well, I guess he finally up and left.” Dawn’s voice sounded tired and dull, and she was staring listlessly at the table again. “Guess he got tired of Buffy ignoring him and all, and once it sank in that she was never gonna give him a chance, he had nothing left to stay here for.”

The hurt was obvious in her voice, the underlying statement being that she had *thought* that she might have been something he cared about enough to keep him there. Tara’s heart ached, longing to let Dawn know that he had not left out of a lack of concern for her -- that he’d really had no choice; it had been a matter of survival.

“Dawn -- maybe he had a good reason,” she shrugged, careful to keep her voice calm and even, trying not to give too much away. “I mean -- you never know what might have made him decide to go…”

Dawn’s eyes suddenly shot up to hers, narrowing slightly in suspicion. “Do *you* know why he left?” she asked point blank.

Tara cursed her complete and utter lack of any kind of poker face, feeling her heart sink as her face flushed, self-conscious. “O-of course n-not,” she stammered, looking away from Dawn’s piercing gaze. “Why would I know?”

“First of all -- you were *so* not surprised when I said he’d left town,” Dawn pointed out, sitting up and leaning across the table, with the first spark of excitement in her eyes that Tara had seen that day. “And second -- you are *not* a good liar, Tara. Or even a good liar-by-omission. You know something -- don’t you?”

But Tara suddenly looked distracted, thoughtful, a slow frown forming on her face as something Dawn had said began to register with her. “Dawnie -- what makes you think he left town?” she asked softly, a troubled expression in her eyes. “I mean -- just because you haven’t seen him in a while…”

Dawn shook her head, cutting her off, “His crypt’s all cleaned out. TV and everything. Only stuff left is the stuff too big to fit in that crappy old car of his -- like the bed and stuff, you know? So he must have left town.”

Tara’s frown deepened, a sick feeling beginning in the pit of her stomach.

Spike had left town straight from her house; he hadn’t gone back to the crypt at all -- had he?

*Buffy’s got a secret…a secret that’s got her all distracted and happy…*

“Tara?”

Dawn’s voice had lost it’s sharp, slightly accusing quality and was now softer and anxious, as her wide blue eyes searched those of the older girl, worried by the look of fear that was slowly building on Tara’s face.

“Tara -- what is it? What’s wrong?”

***********************************

 

By the time Tara and Dawn were enjoying their third movie-and-milkshake night, Spike’s injuries had all nearly healed. Pig’s blood was nowhere near as effective as the human variety in promoting vampire healing, but it was certainly better than nothing.

However, the added blood had done nothing to help his other problem -- the problem below his waist that kept him from being able to logically consider his situation, or any way of escape, or anything but his current physical suffering…

…the problem that Buffy had still not seen fit to do anything about.

*Don’t want her touching me anyway,* Spike thought with a bitter, defensive resentment, mingled with a terrible sense of fear. In truth, the thought of having her hands on him made him feel sick at his stomach.

But he knew full well that she would not be allowing him to do anything about it himself, not anytime soon -- and by this point, the purely physical need of his body for release was almost unbearable.

When he heard her soft, measured footsteps on the stairs, Spike could not help a wild flash of hope that maybe, maybe this time she would grant him the relief he sought. And immediately following that thought was a sense of shame at his own desperation, his own weakness that made him both dread and long for her touch.

“Wow,” Buffy said lightly, as he heard her footsteps slowly circle him with a sort of predatory ease. “You’re looking good, Baby.” She paused, moving in close to him, and he flinched as he felt her feather-soft touch on the underside of his excruciatingly engorged member. “Well,” she amended with an almost audible smirk, “mostly, anyway.”

To both his relief and his despair, she removed her hand from his erection, reaching both hands behind his head to unbuckle the gag in his mouth. As she did, she spoke in a casual, matter-of-fact voice.

“Rules are gonna be a little different today,” she informed him. “Now, if you scream -- raise your voice at all -- try anything stupid…” She jerked his head back, increasing his feeling of vulnerability, as she leaned in close to his ear to whisper, “…I’ll put this gag right back on…and then I’ll take one of those cute little bottles of holy water I always carry around…and I’ll burn your little problem there right off…got it?”

Spike nodded frantically, terrified by the horrific threat, one that she sounded all too willing to carry out.

“But you *are* allowed to talk today,” Buffy conceded quietly, as she took the gag from his mouth completely. “Without getting permission, too, provided you’re respectful. After all,” she placed a tender kiss along his jaw line, whispering in a voice full of seductive menace, “if you can’t talk…you can’t beg.”

 


	22. Chapter 22

“I w-won’t beg you, Buffy,” Spike whispered, cringing inwardly even as he said it, cursing the vestige of pride he had left that balked at the idea of stooping that low. “Not for that. I don’t care what you do to me. I won’t.”

 

A soft, surprised huff of laughter left the Slayer’s lips, and he could hear that she was circling him in a manner that could only be described as predatory, before she suddenly moved in close again, one strong hand at the back of his neck, the other sliding down his stomach, edging teasingly lower, as she leaned in close to whisper against his ear in a voice of false innocence.

 

“You w-w-won’t? Awww, I’m so disappointed, Spike…wonder what I could do to change your mind…?”

 

He couldn’t hold back a soft moan, as her fingertips trailed lightly across the sensitive flesh just above the base of his erection, and he instinctively tried to pull away from her. Her hands were instantly hard and insistent, as her free hand reached behind him to grasp his upper thigh, just below his bottom, and jerk his body forcefully closer to her, and her other hand lowered to boldly encircle his agonized member.

 

He bit back a cry of pain as she pressed her thumb in a hard circle on the underside of his erection, intended more to hurt than to tempt. Her firm grip on his thigh prevented him from avoided the intense, unwelcome touch, but still she whispered in a cold voice of unyielding cruelty,

 

“If you pull away from me again, Spike – I’ll break it. Is that what you want me to do?”

 

Spike was suffering, afraid, and desperate for release that had been withheld for days now; but she had at least been feeding him, and his other injuries had healed well. The relief of all the other types of physical pain he had been in had had a tremendous effect on his thought processes, and before he could stop himself he found himself replying in a mildly mocking tone, though his voice was hoarse with exhaustion and pain.

 

“Seems to me you have too much fun with it to wanna do that, love.”

 

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them, wondering at his own stupidity.

 

The moment later – he was beyond rational thought, beyond everything but the fierce agony flowing out from his groin through his entire body.

 

The Slayer viciously wrenched his swollen, throbbing manhood downward, twisting as she did so, while pressing her other hand tightly over his mouth, stifling a desperate, panicked scream of anguish that he could not suppress.

 

He was barely aware of her words as she finally released him, sneering in his face, “It’ll heal – right?” She shrugged, as she added nastily, “And if it doesn’t – I’ll just go find another cute piece of vampire ass to be my personal whore.” Her own words seemed to make her anger rise again, as she suddenly grabbed his hair, jerking his head back to snarl in his face, “You are nothing special, Spike! I could replace you so fast it would make your head spin! Do *not* screw around with me, because I will dust you so fast…!”

 

Her voice trailed off, and he realized with alarm that her hands were shaking; she seemed to be having a difficult time controlling her rage – and with both of her powerful hands currently on his head, that was actually a rather life-threatening situation for Spike. He shook his head slightly, still unable to answer with her hand over his mouth, but desperate to make her see that he would behave, he would do as she wanted.

 

“Okay…okay,” Buffy said quietly, as if soothing herself with the words. “Everything’s fine – see what you make me do, Spike? See how angry you make me get?”

 

She suddenly seemed to back off, as her hands were off him, and Spike was hanging freely from the chains again, gasping for breath in an attempt to control his own overwhelming panic and agony.

 

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly, his heart sinking with dread of what she might do to him to further punish him for his disrespect. “Buffy, I’m sorry…”

 

“You’re always sorry,” she snapped in disgust. “But never sorry enough, because it always happens again. Well, I’m gonna change that, Spike. I’m gonna teach you not to mouth off to me, you little piece of crap!”

 

He flinched as he felt her hands on the chains above his head, and suddenly his wrists were free. He staggered for a moment, off balance, before he suddenly felt her fingers clutching tightly at his hair, painful but steadying him, yet at the same time forcefully pushing him downward.

 

“On your knees,” she snarled in a low, dark, commanding voice that made his stomach clench with fear, and he could do nothing but obey her.

 

Once he was kneeling, she pulled roughly at his hair, jerking him along the floor on his knees in the direction she wanted him to go, and there was nothing for him to do but to do his best to keep up with her, even as his face flushed with the shame of crawling after her like nothing but an animal, a pet.

 

Though he was fairly certain that even most pets were much better treated than this.

 

He felt his knees brush against something not exactly soft, but somewhat yielding, before she stopped, and he felt her strong hands on his arms from behind him, lifting him onto what felt like a thin, cheap mattress on the floor. He was shaking by now, terrified to find out what it was that she had planned for him, but forcing himself to be compliant as she maneuvered his body into the place she wanted it, and then pushed him firmly down onto his back on the mattress.

 

He could have fought her, but he knew that his chances with his wrists still bound in front of him, and his eyes blindfolded, were almost nothing in comparison to hers – and the thought of the punishment she would inflict for such a defiance was more than he could even consider.

 

“Buffy,” he whispered as he felt her grip his ankle, pulling it slightly outward to the side, and wrapping a tight leather restraint around it. “Buffy – please, love…please don’t…” His voice trailed off, as he realized with a sick sense of dismay that he really had no idea what to ask her not to do – all he knew was that it was not going to be good.

 

“Begging already, Sweetie?” she said in a falsely sweet voice, and he felt her hand pat his cheek none-too-gently. “I thought you said you weren’t going to do that?”

 

He hesitated, struggling to find words to explain that would not further anger her. He had begged her many times before not to hurt him anymore – but something in him simply refused to beg for the physical release she was using to control him at the moment.

 

“I – I said I wouldn’t beg you – to – to – let me come…I’m begging you *not* to do this, Buffy…please…please don’t hurt me…”

 

Buffy did not seem pleased with his explanation. “You and that smart mouth of yours,” she snarled, following up the words with a stunning backhand across his face, before grabbing the back of his neck again and jerking him partially up off the mattress, her voice softly threatening as she added with a cold smile, “When I’m through with you, you’ll beg me to tell you what to beg me for! You’ll say and do whatever I tell you to say and do, Spike. And right now, I’m telling you to lay there and don’t move and keep your stupid mouth shut!”

 

She released him roughly, and left his side to bind his other ankle tightly on the other side of the mattress. Apparently she had fixed pegs in the floor for the express purpose of laying him out like this, and they were uncomfortably far apart, forcing his legs to be spread just to the point of being on the edge between pain and mere discomfort.

 

He had a feeling that the distance between the pegs had not been an error on her part.

 

When she returned to the head of the mattress and pulled his bound wrists up over his head, Spike felt that sense of helpless panic closing in on him again, as he realized that within moments, he would be denied even what slight freedom of movement he had had before.

 

“Buffy – please,” he whispered, choking back tears of fear and pain as she unbound his wrists, and immediately jerked the right one up at an angle, fastening it too tightly to a peg above his head and to his right. “Please, love, I’m sorry – don’t do this…”

 

“Shut…” Buffy bit off the words in irritation, as she wrenched his left arm painfully to make it reach the last peg, “…up, Spike.”

 

He forced himself to be quiet, as he felt one of her hands lifting his hip, and the other pushing something soft and thick under his hips, holding his pelvis up in an awkward and humiliating position.

 

“There we go,” she remarked, her tone much more cheerful now, as she added cruelly, “Now that’s what I call easy access.”

 

As she spoke, her fingertips trailed a lazy circle around the weeping head of his desperate erection, and Spike felt his body attempting instinctively to arch up toward the touch – except that he couldn’t move, not at all. He was bound so tightly, his body stretched so painfully, that he had absolutely no room to move, not even a little.

 

Buffy’s malicious giggle only intensified his shame, as his hands clenched into fists, opening and shutting with his subconscious desire to break free, though he knew that he couldn’t. The Slayer knew what she was doing, and had only chosen bonds that she knew would hold him at his strongest.

 

And he was most definitely not at his strongest right now.

 

“Now,” Buffy went on softly. “What are we going to do with you, Spikey?” Her voice held a teasing sadness to it, as she went on, “I try to help you make me happy – but you just can’t seem to behave yourself…”

 

“I will, Buffy, please,” he gasped out as her fingertips became a fist, pulling mercilessly at his bound organ, in a mockery of gestures that should have brought about his release – had she allowed it; as it was, they only brought him more agony. “Buffy, please, I’ll do what you tell me, please, Buffy…”

 

“Told you to shut up, Sweetie,” she reminded him calmly, her thumb pressing down on the head of his erection, drawing a moan of anguish from his lips. After a moment’s pause, she added, “You have no idea what this does to me, Spike – seeing you like this – knowing that you’re all mine…”

 

He was pretty sure that he did have an idea; the heavy scent of her arousal had long since saturated the room.

 

He felt his heart sink as she suddenly climbed onto the mattress, straddling him as she decided, “First things first…we’ll deal with *my* little problem…and then…*maybe*…we’ll deal with yours.”

 

He had no choice but to lie perfectly still, as she climbed onto him, and began to ride him at a slow, agonizing pace, deliberately drawing out his pain, and the pleasure she took in it, until he thought he couldn’t bear another moment. The heat of her climax around him was sheer torture, her muscles contracting around him and mercilessly squeezing his raw, damaged member.

 

He fought back a scream of agony, his taut arms and legs straining against the bonds that held him in futile desperation for escape that was denied him, as the Slayer’s sated body collapsed on top of him, her harsh, deep breaths impossibly loud in his ear.

 

When she finally recovered, she rose up, bracing her hand on his chest in a possessive gesture, as she remarked in a tone of satisfaction, “You just have no idea how much I love this, Spike.”

 

Something within him broke at those words – a sense of anger, outrage at what she was doing to him – and the pleasure she took in it.

 

*Selfish, sadistic bitch…*

 

“*What* did you say?”

 

Spike froze, panic seizing him as he realized that he must have spoken the words aloud in his delirious haze of agony and shame. “I – n-nothing,” he gasped out, terrified. “Buffy, I didn’t – I didn’t mean to…”

 

“Sadistic, huh?” she said speculatively, roughly climbing off of him, and he felt the weight of her legs as she knelt on the mattress beside him. “I’ll show you sadistic, Baby. Remember what I said I’d do to you if you couldn’t talk nice?”

 

Spike racked his mind in a desperate attempt to remember – and then gave up, a mad laugh of ironic despair rising up in his throat. It wasn’t as if remembering what make it hurt any less, was it?

 

And then, he *did* remember, as the fierce agony, like a searing, trickling flame, engulfed his trapped, vulnerable groin – as the Slayer slowly poured the deadly fluid from the tiny vial in her hand.

 

A hoarse, choked cry of pain escaped his throat, as he sobbed out, “Please – no, Buffy, I’m sorry – please, Buffy…”

 

She ignored him, holding one hand calmly over his mouth as she emptied a second bottle over his helpless body, even as he struggled uselessly in a blind panic, aware of nothing but the pain and his desperation to escape it.

 

“I warned you,” she remarked softly, as the sickening smell of his own burning flesh reached his nostrils, adding an overwhelming sense of nausea to his general suffering. “I told you what would happen, Spike.” She paused, rising up straight on her knees, removing her hand from his lips, once his attempts at screams had faded into despairing sobs.

 

“Now,” she went on softly, malice glittering in her cold eyes. “Let’s see about your little problem, shall we?”

 

Spike could hardly believe what she was saying – could scarcely imagine that she could really be so horribly cruel.

 

But when her soft yet brutal hand began slowly working the ravaged, seared flesh of his trapped manhood – he had to believe it.

 

And before she was finished – Spike begged for the release he had sworn he would never beg for.

 

And as it overwhelmed him in a fire of mingled agony and relief – sweet blackness overtook him once more.


	23. Chapter 23

“Okay -- something is seriously wrong with this picture.”

“Yeah. My best friend ran out on me and didn’t even say goodbye,” Dawn snarked as she walked past Tara into the empty, abandoned crypt that had less than a week ago been Spike’s home.

Tara just stood there in the doorway, eyes wide and worried. “No -- he had to leave, Dawnie, he didn’t have a choice; a lot more than that is wrong…”

Dawn frowned as she turned back to face her, concern finally showing in her piercing blue eyes. “Tara -- you keep saying that. Spike *had* to go.” She paused a moment, moving back toward the door, searching Tara’s eyes. “Tara -- is Spike in trouble? He didn’t -- didn’t do something -- did he?”

Tara let out a harsh, bitter sort of laugh, shaking her head as she looked away from the younger girl, and when she looked back up again, Dawn was almost certain that there were tears sparkling in her eyes as she replied.

“No, Dawnie. He didn’t do anything. God, why does everybody always think he’s got to be the one at fault?”

“I don’t,” Dawn cut her off firmly before she could take that line of thought any farther. “I didn’t think he would do anything seriously bad -- but -- well, sometimes Spike does things that -- don’t make a lot of sense. And they usually end up with Buffy storming off after him saying she’s got to slay him for being an idiot.” Dawn shrugged. “She never does -- but I’m just saying…”

Tara sighed, relenting, aware that Dawn’s question had been spoken in innocence. “I know,” she admitted softly. “Like Robo-Buffy -- and chaining her up in his crypt -- but -- this isn’t like that, Dawnie. I promise.”

Dawn was quiet for a moment, silently considering the fact that Tara seemed to be doing more than guessing at this point; she seemed to know exactly why and where Spike had gone.

“So what is it ‘like’?” Dawn pressed softly, moving closer to Tara and studying her expression. “What happened? Why did he have to leave?”

Tara took a deep breath, hesitating. She wasn’t sure that it was the thing to do, to reveal to Dawn the depths of darkness to which her sister had fallen -- and yet, she was beginning more and more to fear that Dawn might eventually become a victim of her sister’s rage, especially since Buffy seemed less and less interested in her little sister’s well-being lately.

“He -- he was in danger. Someone was -- trying to hurt him. He left -- so that they couldn’t get to him,” she finally answered, hoping that Dawn would accept that partial truth and let it go at that.

Of course -- she didn’t.

The younger girl frowned, shaking her head in confusion. “That’s not like Spike. Why would he run away? He *never* runs away. He’d fight whoever it was before he’d -- unless they were human!” Her eyes suddenly went wide as she looked back up at Tara, a question in her gaze. “It was a human, wasn’t it? Oh, that makes me so mad! He couldn’t even fight back with that chip in his head!”

Tara said nothing, as she walked into the room, quietly examining the few items that were left. The refrigerator, the old armchair he used to sit in, were both still there; and she was fairly certain that if she went downstairs, she would find his bed still in place. But everything that he could have possibly fit into his Desoto -- the Desoto he no longer had possession of -- was gone.

“Still,” Dawn continued, a troubled sound to her young voice, “it must have been pretty bad, for him to decide to leave town. I mean -- he’s not typically a runner. And with Buffy here and all…did they hurt him, Tara?”

Tara nodded without looking at her, replying in a carefully even voice, “Yes. Many times.”

Dawn‘s eyes widened in surprise -- and then narrowed again in anger. “More than once?” she clarified softly, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

Tara nodded again. “Badly,” she added in a voice of quiet, restrained anger. “He had no choice but to go, Dawn. They would have killed him.”

Dawn was quiet for a moment, taking that in, before she remarked softly, “Well -- I’m glad he got away, but I sure wish I had a chance to get at the person who…”

“I’m not so sure he *did* get away.” Tara’s voice was barely over a whisper, as she interrupted Dawn’s indignant words, her own voice trembling with fear.

“What?” Dawn’s eyes widened as she moved toward Tara again. “What do you mean? Why not?”

“He -- he wasn’t going to take all this stuff,” Tara explained awkwardly. “He was just going to -- to go. There wasn’t -- time, for him to come back here and pack.” She looked up at the younger girl suddenly, her eyes welling with troubled tears. “So why is it all gone?”

Dawn’s swallowed hard, her expression suddenly very serious. “Maybe,” she began uncertainly, “maybe he changed his mind?”

Tara shook her head. “No -- no, that’s not it. He knew better than to come back here, not after…” She shook her head again, her voice trailing off. “He wouldn’t have come back here -- not unless he had to.”

“So -- what do you think happened?” Dawn asked, frowning, confused again. “I mean -- to all his stuff? Do you think -- someone tried to make it *look* like he left town?”

Tara nodded slowly. “That’s what it looks like.”

“But -- who would bother to do that? I mean -- *I* love Spike, but -- he’s a vampire living in a crypt in the middle of the cemetery. Who’s gonna think that anybody’s gonna miss him, you know?”

Tara was silent, her jaw set in silent determination, as she turned slightly away from Dawn, heading back toward the door, and the sunlight beyond.

“Tara!” Dawn called, following swiftly after her, rising realization in her eyes as she caught the taller girl’s arm and rushed around in front of her, earnestly seeking her gaze.

“Tara, wait -- this person, he was scared of -- it wasn’t -- one of the Scoobies, was it? They’re the only ones who’d know that he‘d have anyone at all who’d come looking for him. It wasn’t, was it? *Was it*?”

Tara did not look up at her, swallowing hard, desperately searching her mind for any way to keep the truth from Dawn without actually outright lying to her -- because by now, she considered the girl too close of a friend to do that.

“Oh, God,” Dawn whispered, her tone and expression both stricken now. “It was, wasn’t it? Tara, who was it? Tara -- *tell me*!”

Tears were streaming down Tara’s face now, though she still stubbornly resisted making eye contact with Dawn. “Dawnie…” she whispered in a voice thick with sorrow, shaking her head sadly. “Dawnie, please…I can’t…”

“Why are you protecting them?” Dawn’s voice was trembling now, and hard with a defensive anger. “Is it Willow?”

“*No!*” Tara insisted, shocked by the question, startled into meeting Dawn’s piercing gaze -- and then suddenly looking away guiltily.

But a moment too late.

Dawn had seen the answer to her question in her friend’s sorrowful, sympathetic eyes -- eyes that told her that whatever the answer was, Tara knew that it was going to hurt Dawn far worse than it hurt her.

“No,” Dawn whispered, suddenly releasing Tara’s arm and taking a step backward, shaking her head in denial. “Tara -- it’s not -- she wouldn’t…”

“Dawn,” Tara said firmly, matching the girl’s backward step and catching her arm this time, not letting her retreat further. “You have to calm down and listen to me. I -- I didn’t want you to know this -- I didn’t want it to hurt you too -- but…” Her voice trailed off, and she found that now she could not quite bring herself to say the words.

“It was Buffy -- wasn’t it?” Dawn asked, her voice a bare whisper, but unyielding, forcibly strong in the face of her own hurt. “Buffy hurt Spike. So bad that -- that he was afraid for his life. That he thought he had to leave.”

Tara was quiet, swallowing hard, before she answered resolutely, “Yes, Dawnie. Yes she did.”

“She -- she’s been different. She’s not -- she’s not *Buffy*, anymore, you know?” Dawn’s voice trembled as she whispered the painful words. “She’s just not the same -- she -- scares me, sometimes…”

Tara nodded sympathetically, inwardly relieved that she had said something, and determining to see that Dawn was not placed in danger as Spike had been.

Dawn’s eyes welled with tears, but she fought them back, a more troublesome thought occurring to her then, as she looked back up at Tara and added fearfully, “And -- and you think she’s done something to him now -- don’t you? You think he never left town -- because she stopped him -- don’t you?”

Tara hesitated, not wanting to say it -- because saying it would make it true, would keep her from being able to believe that Spike had escaped, that he was safe.

But she *had* to say it -- because if she didn’t, who would know that he was not?

“Yes, Dawnie,” she answered finally, her expression solemn, and full of a determination to find the answers that neither of them had yet. “Yes, I do.”

 

********************************

 

“We have to talk, Spike.”

He couldn’t help his instinctive flinch at the sound of her voice, though he could not move much to actually get away. Hours had passed since the brutal holy water torture she had inflicted on him, and she had left him bound on the floor all that time. His muscles ached and trembled with fatigue, and trembled harder as he sensed her drawing nearer to him.

When he felt the bonds at his wrists go suddenly slack, he could not hold back the hoarse, broken sobs of relief torn from his throat.

“Shhh,” she soothed him softly, running a hand gently down the side of his face. “It’s all right…”

Without meaning to he jerked away from her touch, and she seized the back of his head, holding him firmly in place as she rebuked him softly, coldly, with a warning note to her voice, “Careful, Baby…you don’t wanna make me mad again, do you?”

“N-no,” Spike whispered breathlessly, shaking his head desperately, swallowing back a fresh sob of terror. “No, Buffy, I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean to -- please…”

“It’s okay,” she whispered back, her hand at the back of his head becoming a caress, before she let him go and moved to the foot of the bed, unfastening his ankles as well.

As his body collapsed onto the thin, hard mattress on the floor, he fell into convulsive shudders of mingled relief and trauma, his body closing in on itself, as his sobs overwhelmed him.

It was the first time since she had brought him here that his arms and legs had been completely free.

Fighting never even occurred to him, in that moment.

“Come here,” Buffy said gently, reaching out to take his arm in a firm, steadying grip, and pulling him backward against her as she leaned back against the wall.

His natural instinct was to resist, but he knew better by now, and forced himself to be as compliant as possible, moving with her, and leaning back against her when she urged him to do so, although such close contact with the very body that had so violated and broken him a few hours past made him feel sick with shame and terror.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, her hand brushing gently across his trembling brow, her arm snaking possessively around his waist. “It’s okay, Spike -- it’s over now.” She paused, before adding just as gently, “You’re never going to talk back to me again, are you, Baby?”

Spike shook his head emphatically, a convulsive swallow that was painfully dry filling his throat. “I -- I’m sorry, Buffy,” he whispered, his voice breaking over the words. “I’m so s-sorry…”

“I know you are,” she said quietly, calmly. “And I forgive you.” She was quiet a moment, before adding, “I know things are going to be much better now, Baby. I think -- I think it’s about time for you to have that blindfold off -- see where you are. Where you’re going to be living, pretty much, from now on. Okay?”

Spike hesitated just a moment, before nodding firmly. “Please,” he whispered.

“We’ll see,” she replied coolly, pushing him slightly forward and climbing to her feet, and he heard her soft footsteps on the stone floor as she moved around to stand in front of where he sat, huddled self-consciously on the floor.

“Get on your knees,” she ordered quietly.

Without hesitation, trembling violently, Spike obeyed, his head bowed in submission.

“I want your face to the floor, you disgusting little nothing,” she snarled softly, contempt in her voice. “You ought to kiss the ground I walk on, you evil, filthy *thing*!”

Spike flinched at the hatred he heard in her voice, but immediately obeyed, even going so far as to tentatively brush his lips against the cold, rough stone, as he was not really sure whether or not she had meant those words as a command.

But he had no intention of finding out the hard way.

He bit back a startled cry of fear as she was suddenly crouching in front of him, her hard hand yanking his head back painfully, her face inches from his as she whispered in his ear.

“What are you going to do from now on, Spike?”

“W-whatever you tell me to do, Buffy,” he whispered back in a trembling, pleading voice.

“What are you going to say from now on?”

“Whatever you tell me to say.”

“Are you *ever*…” She shook him hard by the hair as she said those words, “…going to attempt to run away from me again?”

“N-no,” he whispered, petrified by the threat in her voice. “Please, Buffy, no…please don’t…” Tears streaked his bruised face, falling out from beneath the blindfold that he had worn for so long.

He could hear the smug smile in her voice as Buffy remarked softly, her tone instantly gentle and soothing again, “Yeah -- I think you’re ready.”

A couple of weeks before, her tone of pleased condescension would have infuriated him.

Now, all he felt was relief to have assuaged her anger.

He kept perfectly still as she removed the blindfold from his eyes, and then kept his eyes closed, uncertain, awaiting her command.

“Man, if you were always this good, I wouldn’t have to hurt you so much, Sweetie,” Buffy remarked in a voice of subtle menace -- and he gasped, but did not open his eyes, as he felt the heat of her hand hovering over his ravaged groin, but not quite touching him. “Can you be this good all the time, Baby?” she asked him very softly, her tone sly and leading.

“Y-yes,” he sobbed in desperation. “Yes, Buffy, please! I’ll be good, I’ll do what you say, please!” His shaking hands were clenched into fists at his sides, but he did not dare to lift a hand in his own defense, or to pull away as his every tensed muscle longed to do. His last words came out as a tearful, humble whisper. “Please, Buffy, don’t…don’t h-hurt me again, love, please…”

“You don’t make me,” Buffy whispered back, her hand at the back of his neck in an intimidating possessive gesture, “and I won’t. Now open your eyes.”

Spike obediently opened his eyes, blinking a few times as his light-starved eyes adjusted to the dim light of the basement room that was still more light than they had seen at all over the past couple weeks. His eyes widened as he gradually realized where he was -- where he had been all along.

Right there in Buffy’s basement.

“I know it’s a surprise,” she admitted matter-of-factly. “But now that things are -- different -- between us -- until I know for sure that I can really trust you -- I need to know where you are at all times, Spike -- keep an eye on you. So you’ll be staying here. I’ll find a way to explain it so that the others don’t get suspicious.”

Spike was silent, wide eyes staring up the staircase, bewildered and a little confused -- and just the slightest bit…hopeful.

Buffy saw it in his eyes -- and could not allow it to remain.

“Now,” she said softly, lifting a hand to his cheek to turn his eyes back toward her face, smiling when he flinched, but allowed her to manipulate his movements, looking obediently up at her through eyes wide with fear. “There’s still something we need to talk about. It involves this…”

He let out a frightened cry as she reached her hand down between his legs again, but she only touched the magical carved initial in his thigh, rather than his sensitive, damaged manhood.

Her other hand, however, fell in a hard but almost casual slap across his face, as she snarled, “Shut up.”

He was instantly silent, terrified, not daring to move or make a sound, as her fingertips lightly traced the mark on his thigh. She smiled when he gasped softly, and she could see the slight reaction of his injured organ, in spite of himself, to her touch on the sensitive mark.

Watching his face carefully for his reaction to her revelation, she slowly brought her wrist around in front of his eyes, revealing a strange mark, like the scar of a deep burn, faintly visible on her own skin.

“Do you know what this means?” she asked him in a soft, even voice.

Spike shook his head, staring at the mark and swallowing hard.

“I didn’t think so. Let me explain to you how this works,” Buffy went on patiently.

And by the time she had finished, the faint trace of hope that Spike had briefly known, had melted away like a mid-morning fog -- and he knew beyond all doubt that there was no way he could ever escape her.


	24. Chapter 24

Spike stood on the top step leading up from the basement into Buffy’s kitchen -- and couldn’t seem to make himself move a single step further. He cursed his own stupidity, clueless as to why, after weeks of longing to take just this very step, now that he was allowed to do so, he could not.

“Come on, Spike, we don’t have all day here,” Buffy sighed impatiently, a slightly warning edge to her voice.

That was all the further motivation Spike needed.

His weakened legs trembling, he stepped up into the dimly lit kitchen. The curtains had been drawn against the last rays of the setting sun, to allow him relatively safe passage from the underground room that had been his prison for so many days, and Buffy was waiting for him, leaning against the island counter in the center of the room.

“What’s the matter, Baby?” she asked with exaggerated patience, sidling closer to him and placing her hands on his arms in a gesture that he could no longer help but see as more possessive than affectionate. “You should be happy today.”

With an effort, Spike forced himself not to flinch at her touch, swallowing nervously, his eyes downcast. “I -- I know, Buffy. It’s just -- what if I -- what if I mess it up? What if I c-can’t -- can’t convince them…?”

“You’ll convince them,” Buffy cut him off firmly, raising a hand to run softly through his hair, and with the gesture starting a sick sensation of fear in the pit of his stomach. Her smile was cold, menacing, as she added with deceptive gentleness, “Your survival instinct is too good not to, isn’t it, Sweetie?”

This time Spike did flinch, his breath coming faster, shaky, at the clear threat in her words. He nodded quickly in response to her words, trying again hesitantly. “It’s just -- Buffy, I try -- to do what you want -- I really do -- but sometimes I j-just -- just bugger it all up, love. I don’t mean to -- and -- at the moment -- I’m just so soddin’ scared…I’m sure to blow it, love, and make you mad at me, and…”

His words broke off in a frightened yelp, as in a lightning swift motion she had grabbed him and spun him around, slamming his back painfully against the counter, her other hand casually holding a razor sharp carving knife that had lain on the counter only an instant before.

He froze completely, his eyes closed against the terror of the moment, as she held one of his arms in a vise-like grip, her body pressed in close to prevent his moving away at all, while her other hand lightly traced the tip of the blade across his trembling lips.

“What -- so you’re planning to fail me, Spike? Is that it?”

“N-no,” he whispered, shaking his head desperately. “No, Buffy, that’s not it, I’m just…”

“Shut up.”

Instantly he stopped talking, as she trailed the blade slowly down from his mouth, across his throat, edging it slightly lower. He knew that she could kill him with that blade if she wanted to; she was definitely strong enough to decapitate him with it if she so chose.

He also knew that she wouldn’t.

It was all the other horrific things that he knew she could do with that wicked blade that had him so petrified at the moment.

“You’re going to pull it off, Spike,” she told him softly, raising the blade again and tilting his head back with it, smiling with cold pleasure at the power she held over him. “You’re a very good actor, Baby. I know you are. You’re good at *lying*, aren’t you, Spike?”

The disgusted, angry edge to her voice made him flinch, as he knew precisely what she was referring to. “Please,” he whispered, shaking his head just slightly, tears welling in his eyes as he pleaded for mercy for “crimes” for which she had spent the last two weeks punishing him. “Please, Buffy, I’m sorry…”

“Why are you still talking, Spike?” she asked him calmly, still smiling, as she brought the blade to his lips again.

Immediately, he fell silent again.

She waited a moment before going on softly, “You’ll convince them. I know you can put on a very convincing act when you want to. And if you screw this up, Spike…” She paused, relishing his terror as she pressed just slightly harder with the knife, now pressed against his cheek -- and then suddenly let up, taking it away.

“Don’t worry,” she sneered softly, “I wouldn’t mess up that pretty face for the world, Sweetheart…besides…” As she spoke she slowly slid the hand holding the knife down his body, resting it finally on his rear, and tilting the blade at just such an angle as to place it directly between his legs, eliciting a soft gasp of terror from his lips.

She smirked, leaning in close and kissing him softly, without removing the blade, before pulling back to meet his wide, panicked eyes as she whispered, “…there are so many more interesting things to do with this knife…don’t you think?”

Spike’s lips twitched slightly, as if he was on the verge of more panicked, pleading babble, but he then bit his lower lip hard, as if physically forcing himself to keep silent, despite the remaining threat of the blade, pressed against his body through the denim of his jeans.

Buffy laughed softly, a low, dark sound, as she finally removed the knife -- and then her smile faded completely, as she held his gaze with jade eyes full of cold menace.

“If you should try anything *really* stupid, Spike -- like *deliberately* screwing around with my plan -- then you’ll beg me to kill you, Baby. I’ll make the last two weeks look like a trip to the circus. Am I making myself perfectly clear, Sweetheart?”

Spike dropped his gaze, visibly trembling by now, as he nodded shakily. “Yes, Buffy,” he whispered, his tone soft and submissive.

“Good,” she smiled again, laying the knife back down on the counter and roughly pulling him away from the counter, pushing him ahead of her toward the door. “Let’s go.”

*******************************

 

Dawn had spent the last two nights at Tara’s house.

The first night, she had wanted to hear everything that Tara knew about Spike’s strange disappearance, and her sister’s even stranger behavior over the past few months. Buffy had easily agreed to let her stay overnight at “a friend’s” house -- something that was in and of itself troubling, as not so very long ago, such a request would have resulted in an intensive third degree.

Dawn had fought back tears, as once again it was driven home to her how very little her sister seemed to care what she did anymore.

Tara had slowly, gently, told her the story -- leaving out the more personal parts, the parts that would simply be too devastating for the young girl’s ears. It was bad enough that her sister was the abuser in an extremely abusive relationship; it was quite another thing entirely to inform the poor girl that her sister was guilty of a series of brutal sexual assaults against her partner as well.

The second night, Dawn had stayed at Tara’s, simply because she did not want to be anywhere near her sister at the moment.

They had discussed it, and decided that it would be best for her not to let on to Buffy that she knew anything about what had happened, no matter how badly she wanted to angrily confront her sister with what she knew. Buffy was clearly unstable, and dangerous; and though she had not once lifted a hand against her sister yet, Tara was convinced that it would not be long before she extended her violent ways of dealing with things beyond just her relationship with Spike.

That was all the more reason, both girls felt, for Dawn to spend as much time at Tara’s as possible.

“Buffy might not even notice if I just started staying over here all the time,” Dawn pointed out, with no little resentment in her voice. “I mean -- she’s always out late, and she never comes in to check on me anymore. And when I leave for school, she’s usually still asleep. She doesn’t question what I do in the afternoons, lately, so she’ll probably never even notice.”

Tara nodded, a sympathetic expression on her face as she reached out to gently take the younger girl’s hand. “Until we figure out what’s going on with her,” she said softly, “it’s actually a *good* thing that she’s not noticing. It puts you in less danger.”

“I guess that’s something,” Dawn added quietly, shaking her head in shocked dismay. “It feels so weird to be talking about *Buffy* like this -- as if she’s the latest Big Bad, you know?”

Tara was silent for a moment, and when she spoke, her tone was solemn, “If she’s as messed up right now as I think she is,” she pointed out regretfully, “she very well might be.”

Both girls were silent for a moment, before Dawn finally spoke up again, swiftly and suddenly, almost as if she was afraid that if she didn’t say it fast, she wouldn’t find the nerve to say it at all.

“Do you think Spike is dead?”

Tara blinked in surprise, before responding slowly, “I hope not, Dawnie. I mean -- we have to admit it’s possible. But -- it’s also possible he got away. Not likely,” she admitted when Dawn shot her a knowing look, “but possible. And -- it’s also possible -- that Buffy’s keeping him somewhere. That she made it look like he left town, so no one would look for him…what?” Her voice trailed off slightly, a frown on her face as she took in the expression in Dawn’s wide, startled eyes.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Tara -- Buffy’s been really weird about the basement lately. Like -- she put a padlock on the door, and told me not to go down there, because Giles sent her some secret weapon thing and she doesn’t want me to get hurt. I mean, can you *get* any lamer than that?”

Tara did not even smile, as Dawn quickly went on, “She’s so hiding something down there, and it’s not a weapon. Tara -- do you really think she’d…?”

“I don’t know,” Tara shook her head, mingled hope and fear in her eyes. “But -- it sounds like something we should at least check out, don’t you think? I mean -- it’s definitely suspicious.”

Dawn nodded eagerly, anxiously hopeful herself. “Okay,” she began, her voice a little shaky. “So how’s this for a plan? There’s a Scoobie meeting today at the shop, and Buffy said I could go, so it’d look a little weird if I didn’t show up now. And the last thing we want is her starting to be suspicious of me -- you know, actually *caring* what I do. She’s home from work all day today, so it will have to wait until tonight. So -- tonight, while she’s out patrolling -- we’ll break into that basement. Okay?”

Tara nodded thoughtfully, not seeing any major flaws in that plan. “I’ll wait down the street from your house, and you can call me as soon as she leaves. We need to get started just as soon as she’s gone, because we don’t know how strong that lock is, and we don’t want her to catch us in the middle of breaking in.”

“Right,” Dawn agreed, excitement beginning in her youthful voice, her blue eyes shining now with a conspiratorial light. Her expression slowly sobered, as she looked up at Tara hesitantly again. “Do you -- do you really think she’s got Spike down there?”

Tara shook her head slowly, at a loss. “I’m not sure, Dawnie. I -- I hope not. And then -- I kind of hope *so* -- because -- if she doesn’t -- then -- then he’s probably…”

“Got the picture, don’t have to spell it out,” Dawn breathed the words out in a rush, standing up from Tara’s sofa and grabbing her book bag. “Scoobie meeting’s in half an hour, if we go now you can just sort of, be shopping, when we start the meeting, you know?”

Tara easily read the silent message in the casual suggestion, that at this point Dawn would feel safer with her there, and readily agreed, “Okay. Sounds good to me. Let’s just -- go in separately, in case Buffy’s already there, you know?”

Dawn nodded, and headed out the door, wanting to make it to the Magic Box before dark.

Tara took her time getting ready to go, and then set out for the ten minute walk that separated her from the Magic Box. As she approached it, she prepared herself mentally for the emotionally taxing situation that a visit here always seemed to be lately. Willow always gave her those beseeching, desperate looks, and Buffy looked at her with barely veiled hatred and hostility -- while the others all just seemed to try not to look at her at all.

But if Dawn wanted her there, she would be there.

With Spike gone, it wasn’t as if the girl had anyone else that she could really confide in, and at her age…

That thought shattered as Tara opened the door to the Magic Box -- and froze at the sight that met her eyes.

“…and I was so worried, I thought something happened to you, how could you just go off and leave me without even saying goodbye? I swear, I’d dust you myself if I wasn’t so happy to see you!”

A deep, familiar laugh, warm as honey and soft as silk, cut through the young girl’s frantic monologue, as he replied gently, “I’m fine, Bit…I was coming back. Would have said goodbye if I wasn’t…”

“Where did you go?” Dawn demanded, finally releasing the death grip of the embrace she was giving him, looking up into his eyes, her own wide and searching.

But he was no longer looking at her, his wide blue eyes focused in trapped surprise on the stunned figure standing in the doorway.

“Tara,” he whispered softly, the single word barely a breath.

For her part, she couldn’t form words at the moment, so stunned to see him there, alive, free, and apparently healthy.

When she had been so frightened for him.

So -- so desperate, so terrified…

Her eyes narrowed slowly as she took in the sight of him, before she replied in a tone that was nothing like his soft, tentative one -- his name spoken in a terse tone of restrained anger.

“*Spike*.”


	25. Chapter 25

Spike felt the wild, irrational sense of hope that had risen within him at the sight of Tara standing in the doorway fade away in an instant at the anger blazing in her eyes. His heart sank at the thought that she would not be willing to help him now, not after he had so stupidly gone back to the crypt, against her advice, under the guise of getting his coat.

Maybe it had been more than that, really. Maybe a part of him had almost *hoped* to run into Buffy. No matter what she had done to him at that point, it had seemed that he had still been anxious and unsettled by the thought of not having her in his life at all. At this point, he really wasn't sure anymore what his exact motivation had been for going back to the crypt.

In fact, he was finding it more and more difficult to remember much of anything beyond the last two horrific weeks.

*Bloody stupid anyway,* he reminded himself, swallowing hard as he looked nervously away from the blonde witch's accusing eyes. *Not like she could do anything if she did know -- only get herself hurt -- best if she doesn't figure it out...*

"Spike." Her voice was soft, even, as she stepped toward him casually, not giving away to anyone around them that they had anything beyond the most casual acquaintance. "It's been a while -- where've you been hiding?"

He tried his best to maintain a normal tone of voice, but could not quite meet her eyes, as he shrugged nervously and replied, "Haven't been hiding, love. Just -- ran into a bit of trouble ‘s all. Been...recovering..."

As he spoke, he was painfully aware of Buffy's subtle glances in his direction from across the room, and then of her casual footsteps moving toward him, stopping only when she had reached his side to give Tara a smile that was cold as ice, filled with false friendship.

"...but the Slayer here bailed me out of it," he finished, glancing at Buffy as she reached him, with a smile that was perhaps just a touch *too* grateful. "Saved my bloody unlife, she did."

"Wow!" Dawn exclaimed, wide-eyed as she looked between her sister and her friend, her relief and pleased surprise at hearing those words obvious in her hopeful expression.

"That's awesome!" Still, despite Dawn's obvious pleasure at hearing Spike's words, she could not help the obligatory huff in her sister's direction, as she told Buffy pointedly,

"About time you did something to help him, after all Spike's done for *us*!" Turning her attention back to the vampire, she asked with avid interest, "What happened?"

It was pitifully obvious to Tara how desperately the girl did *not* want to believe the conclusions they had reached about Buffy only hours earlier.

Could she really blame her? She didn't want to believe it herself.

But -- something about this whole situation was just...not right.

Buffy rolled her eyes with an embarrassed smile, shaking her head as she pointed out, "Well, it's not like I could have done anything else. You *have* helped us a lot over the years, Spike -- and you can't defend yourself. I couldn't just let them -- well -- I'd really rather only tell the story one time, so let's just wait until everybody's here." As she looked up at Tara, her eyes narrowed slightly as she added, "Good to see you, Tara."

"Uh-huh," Tara muttered, holding the Slayer's gaze until she turned away, moving toward the door to greet Xander and Anya, who had just walked in. As soon as Buffy was out of earshot, Tara turned her attention back to Spike with a sort of grudging concern.

"Couldn't let who do what?" she asked quietly, her soft, gray eyes serious. "What happened, Spike? I thought you were going to..."

"I -- I think we'd best just let the Slayer tell it," Spike cut her off abruptly, still not quite meeting her piercing gaze. "She'll tell it better, after all..."

"I think I'd rather hear it from you." Tara's voice was cool, firm, and unyielding, as she took another step toward him, relentlessly seeking his desperately averted gaze.

"Tara," Spike's voice was barely over a pleading whisper, unintentionally revealing just a fraction of the pain he was trying so hard to conceal, "don't..." As he spoke he took a nervous step backward, glancing anxiously up toward Buffy, whose back was to them at the moment.

Tara's eyes followed his glance, narrowing with realization as she pressed forward another step, speaking in a soft, intent voice. "What's that about, Spike? You‘re still afraid of her, aren‘t you? Did she -- make you stay somehow? Why didn't you...?"

"Stop," he whispered in a terse, trembling voice, taking another step away from her, adding in a voice of forced calm, as he finally forced himself to meet her eyes. "I'd -- really rather not -- talk to you right now, Tara. Would you bloody well just leave me alone?" There was a faint note of desperation in his pleading whisper.

She did not flinch, a quick blink the only physical betrayal of how stung she was by his words. She was silent for a moment, searching his gaze, as she asked in a voice barely over a whisper, "Is that really what you want, Spike?"

*No, no, please don't give up on me -- please don't believe me!* his heart cried out silently.

"Yes." His voice was firm, certain, though his eyes were not.

Tara stared at him a moment longer, glancing toward Buffy with obvious frustration to see her turning back toward them, before meeting his eyes briefly again to reply shortly, "Fine. Whatever you want."

Without a backward glance, she moved away from the table where the assembled Scoobies seemed to be congregating, moving toward the bookshelves several yards away and pretending to browse. She knew that it would not do to call too much attention to herself at the moment, or to allow Buffy to see any greater connection between her and Spike than she already knew existed.

Unaware of her thoughts and intentions, Spike felt more alone in that moment than he had felt during the entire time he had spent as a prisoner in Buffy's basement -- and that was saying quite a lot.

A slight tingling in the mark on his thigh drew his attention, and he felt a sick feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach as he immediately scanned the room for Buffy, locating her seated at the round table already. She was smiling a coldly expectant smile, one eyebrow raised in his direction, as she gave the seat beside hers a discreet pat.

Spike obediently made his way across the room to her side, sitting down beside her, his eyes downcast.

"A little distracted, are we?" she asked him in a whisper so soft that only he could have heard it -- not that anyone else was listening for it. The others were all chatting amongst themselves as they took their places at the table, and none of them seemed to be paying much notice to Spike, or to the Slayer for that matter, at the moment.

Spike didn't trust himself to speak, his throat suddenly dry with fear at the subtle implication of her words. He knew that she had seen him talking to Tara, and could only hope that she was satisfied with his performance thus far, and had not heard the slight slip-ups he knew he had already made. He shook his head slightly, not daring to look up at her, for fear of what he might see in her eyes.

"That's good," she whispered back, though her tone made it clear that she was not thoroughly convinced -- as did the sudden jolt of pain he felt in her mark on his thigh, as out of the corner of his eye he saw her pressing the mark on her own wrist, in a gesture that would have appeared to anyone else to be no more than impatient fidgeting. "Let's keep it that way."

Spike carefully kept his expression calm, neutral, not betraying the pain she had just caused him to the notice of anyone else in the room, as the hum of conversation gradually fell away, and Buffy cleared her throat in a subtle request for the attention of the group.

Almost automatically he lowered his gaze, ironically grateful that the cover story Buffy had come up with allowed for his manner to be as uncertain and apprehensive as he actually felt at the moment.

"Okay, um -- here's why I've called this meeting," the Slayer began in a slightly self-conscious tone, as if not all that comfortable with that attention, once she had it.

"Spike's -- sort of having a crisis. He needs our help."

Amidst the blank looks the small group gave her, Xander let out a sarcastic snort of laughter. "Not exactly seeing why that should matter to us," he remarked. "It's just Spike..."

Buffy's expression was very serious as she countered firmly, "It should matter to us because we agreed a long time ago that staking Spike would be wrong, because he can't fight back. We agreed to let him live -- and he's helped us a lot these past few years -- so in a way, he's kind of -- our responsibility."

Xander and all the others, were silent, sobered by her tone and expression, waiting for her to go on, as it became increasingly clear that whatever she had to say was something she felt was rather serious and important.

"And it's also that fact -- that Spike can't defend himself -- that is the reason we're having this meeting," Buffy went on, her voice softening slightly. She glanced down at the table, as if trying to gather her courage to go on, before looking levelly back up at her friends, meeting each of their eyes in turn.

*Bloody hell but she's good,* Spike had to acknowledge, feeling his heart sinking with despair with every word she spoke, as he could almost visibly see her trap closing more tightly around him.

"See -- I'll just tell you what happened, okay?" Buffy went on, a bit nervously. "I was -- patrolling, the other night. And -- I heard a lot of noise coming from Spike's crypt. So I went to check it out, see what was going on. Well -- a bunch of drunk college boys had apparently decided that an old crypt like that was just the perfect place to party..."

"Um...eww?" Willow muttered, a grimace of disgust on her face.

"Yeah -- you don't even know the half of it," Buffy informed her darkly, looking down at the table again, as if it was terribly difficult for her to tell the rest of the story. "Well -- Spike was -- was home at the time -- and somehow -- I guess the boys figured out that he couldn't fight back. So -- they made him -- part of the party, I guess you could say...decided to have a little fun with the helpless vampire..."

"They knew he was a vampire?" Xander asked, curious, but not sounding the least bit bothered by her story.

Buffy shrugged. "I don't think so. But that's not the point..."

"What, like we're supposed to care that poor widdle Spikey got beat up on by some punks? It's not like he hasn't done a hundred times worse!" he countered, giving the vampire a dismissive, disgusted look.

Spike kept his gaze self-consciously focused on the table, once again glad that Buffy's story gave him a reason for the shame and uncertainty he felt. It was better if he did not look up, he thought, if he did not give any of them any reason to doubt her story.

It wasn't as if anyone could help him now, even if they tried, even if they *wanted* to try, that was -- and he doubted that anyone would want to.

He was not entirely right.

"Hey!" Dawn objected, rising anger in her voice. "That's not fair!"

"Again -- not the point," Buffy responded to Xander's comment, a severe frown on her face. "The point is -- we made the choice to let Spike live because he's helpless -- well, I can't possibly feel right about that if all it means is that we just let others do the hurting for us, you know? Like I said, Xander -- we're responsible for him."

"So, what?" Xander asked, a slightly incredulous note to his gradually rising voice. "You're suggesting we play bodyguard for little Willie Wannabite here all the time now?"

"No," Buffy replied calmly, evenly. "I'm suggesting we make sure he has a safe place to stay at night, where anyone and everyone can't just walk in whenever they feel like it!"

*No,* Spike added silently, swallowing hard against the knot of dread that had formed in his throat. *Not anyone and everyone -- just you, Buffy...*

"But, Buffy," Willow asked a bit timidly, her eyes focused on Spike's face as she spoke, "how can we do that, without...?"

"Why should we even *want* to do that?" Xander demanded, cutting her off as his anger rose higher, unassuaged by Spike's involuntary flinch at the violence in his tone. "Just ‘cause Spike got beat up by some kids in his crypt, you think we should have to..."

"He *wasn't* just beat up, Xander!" Buffy interrupted him sharply, her voice trembling with angry emotion, her eyes welling with glittering tears. The force of her tone silenced the young man, drawing the attention of the room back to her. She paused, visibly regaining her composure, before she added quietly, but with steel behind her words, "And you *don't* have to. Because I will."

"Oh, my God," Willow whispered, as Buffy's unspoken words suddenly dawned on her.

"They raped him -- didn't they?" Anya asked, as usual, the one to speak aloud what was painfully obvious.

"Yes," Buffy affirmed, her voice barely over a whisper of disgusted anger. "Repeatedly. I -- I managed to chase them off. Scared them bad enough that I don't think they'll be trying anything like that again any time soon." She paused, before adding, looking up to meet each of their eyes in turn, "But there will be others, sooner or later. Spike needs protection from *human* violence -- and I've decided to let him stay in my basement at night, from now on."

Throughout the explosion that followed, the tumultuous cacophony of raised, arguing voices, Spike kept his eyes focused on the table, not bothering to try to conceal his humiliation at the way the others were looking at him, talking about him, as if he was nothing more than an object of pity at best, and certainly no one whose opinion, whose feelings, needed to be taken into consideration in the matter.

Avoiding their eyes, fighting back tears of humiliated despair, Spike wondered at the way in which Buffy had managed to subject him to the shame of public victimization, without revealing herself as the one who had victimized him.

Throughout the heated discussion, Dawn was silent -- and then, Spike caught the familiar, salty-sweet scent of her tears. The next moment, he felt a small, warm hand slide into his under the table, squeezing it gently in a silent gesture of support and compassion. His head fell lower, trying to conceal his own tears as they slid down his cheeks, drawn out by the young girl's tenderness, tenderness that he had not experienced in what felt like forever.

"It's okay," Dawn whispered softly, the gentle words barely audible beneath the din of the mingled, arguing voices of the Scoobies. "You're safe now, Spike. We'll protect you."

But instead of bringing him comfort, those words only brought further devastation for Spike -- because he knew that he was *not* safe, far from it; and the "we" Dawn mentioned included the very source of his fears. The protests of the Scoobies, mostly Xander, were becoming weaker, for the truth was, whether or not Buffy "allowed" Spike to stay in her basement was ultimately up to her.

Buffy would win the argument, and apparently soon.

And Spike knew that when she did, he would never be safe again.


	26. Chapter 26

“You did very well today.”

Buffy’s voice was soft, almost gentle, as her hands pushed Spike firmly back against the stone wall of the basement room that had been his prison for the past two weeks -- and would be his prison from now on, he remembered again with a sense of despair…no matter how nice she had tried to make it look on the surface.

Buffy had spent the day before the Scoobie meeting rearranging the basement, bringing in Spike’s old furniture from his crypt, his chair, bed, and television, and just generally setting up the room so that it would look as if someone actually lived there, rather than the dungeon of horrors it had become recently.

After all, she had explained, she knew very well that she couldn’t keep Dawn out of the basement *all* the time; that would certainly make the younger girl suspicious. And there was always the chance that one of the other Scoobies might occasionally have cause to be in the basement, and it simply wouldn’t do to have them find any evidence of the events of the past two weeks.

Oh, the evidence was still there, though carefully hidden. The implements of torture she seemed to take such pleasure in using on his vulnerable body were hidden away in the closet, along with the extra set of shackles she had often attached to the posts of his bed.

And as for the rings bolted into the wall in several places, hanging from the ceiling in another, with chains still attached to them -- items Spike had vaguely hoped might at least prompt questions about their purpose -- Buffy had managed to gain the perfect explanation for their presence.

There was always the chance, she had conceded to her friends’ point during the argument, that Spike’s chip might eventually break down. For that reason, whenever she was not with him and he was in the house, she had agreed to her friends’ demands that Spike be restrained -- chained up.

She had the *permission* of her friends to keep him a prisoner.

Only Dawn might object to that, and Buffy had already made it very clear to him what would happen -- to him *and* to Dawn -- should he dare to attempt to confide in the younger girl about the darkest of their secrets.

Spike was far too familiar with the horrors of Buffy’s wrath to willingly incur it, now that he was so fully under her control -- and the threat of harm to her little sister merely sealed the deal.

There was no way that he would place Dawn in the path of Buffy’s rage.

If it meant going through the endless stress and fear and humiliation of that meeting at the Magic Box that afternoon, again and again, he would do whatever it took to be sure that Dawn was safe; though even when he did his best to do what Buffy told him, there was still the other fear, in the back of his mind -- that he might accidentally give something away, fail in the task she had given him, and bring her fury down on himself, and anyone else who happened to learn her secrets through his failure.

However, at the moment, he was relieved to see that Buffy seemed to be relatively pleased with him.

“I don’t think anyone caught on at all,” Buffy went on softly, a satisfied smile on her face as her hands slowly worked the buttons of his shirt. “You did so good…I just might reward you tonight, Baby…”

Spike tried not to flinch when her warm hands glided under the soft material, running slowly down his chest, and then back up again, pushing him forcefully back against the wall as her mouth fell on his hungrily. He fought his natural reaction to push her away, keeping his hands carefully down at his sides, as he did his best to return the kiss, his mouth trembling and tentative against hers.

When she drew back, she smiled into his eyes as she pushed his shirt down off his shoulders, pulling him away from the wall enough to allow it to fall to the floor behind him -- revealing the dark mottled pattern of bruises and other marks that covered his abused torso, from her previous attentions.

Those marks spoke as plainly as the magical mark still concealed by his jeans -- he was hers.

As if her thoughts followed his own, Buffy reached down to trace the mark by memory through the denim that covered it, her other hand dragging down the zipper of his jeans as she murmured softly, “Who do you belong to, Spike?”

“Y-you,” he whispered automatically, his eyes closed and his face turned away in shame that he could not conceal.

“That’s right,” she replied, her voice so mild and calm that when she suddenly jerked his jeans down around his knees, and gripped his limp member painfully, it caught him completely off guard.

He let out a yelp of pain and startled fear, his hands scrabbling at the stone behind him in an attempt to hold onto something -- *anything* to keep him from the natural defensive reactions that were quickly becoming only a distant memory. He knew better than to even think of fighting back at this point.

“I saw you talking to her, Spike,” Buffy informed him, her tone not changed as she jerked him forward slightly by her cruel hand at his groin. “I know you wanted to tell her our secrets. You wanted to tell her everything -- didn’t you?”

“No,” Spike insisted, shaking his head desperately. “No, please, Buffy…”

“If you *dare* lie to me,” she snarled, gripping his hair and jerking his head back, forcing him to face her as her hand tightened on his body, “Spike, I swear I’ll…”

“*Yes*!” he gasped out the admission, tears of pain and humiliation streaming from his eyes. “Yes, I did -- I wanted to -- but I didn’t -- I didn’t, Buffy, please…please don’t…” he sobbed helplessly.

Immediately her hand softened, falling lower to stroke soothingly up and down his leg, her hand in his hair gentling as well as she said, “There -- that wasn’t so hard, was it? All I ask is that you be honest with me, Spike.”

That was *not* all she asked, he thought resentfully. She wasn’t happy unless she had *everything* -- all of him.

And she *did* have it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, swallowing reflexively as her body shifted in closer to his, her hands going to his hips in a possessively affectionate gesture. “I’m sorry, Buffy…”

“It’s all right,” she assured him gently, and as she pulled him closer to her, one hand rising to press his head down toward her shoulder, he felt his shame deepen at the sense of gratitude he felt for the slight tenderness she was showing him, however false. “It’s okay -- because you didn’t tell her. I know. I would know if you had, Spike. You know that.”

He nodded against her shoulder, no longer trying to hold back his tears, tears for emotions that he could no longer distinguish, one from the other.

Her lips brushed against his ear as one hand ran soothingly through his hair, the other resting low on his back. “And besides,” she went on, her voice just over a whisper. “You don’t want her to try to get involved. You don’t want me to hurt her. Do you, Spike?”

He shook his head emphatically, a tremor of fear going through him, and he tried to pull away, to look at her as he made his plea -- but she held him in place as she went on in that same soft, lulling tone of voice.

“I won’t -- as long as you keep your mouth shut. And I know you will, Sweetheart.” She paused, waiting for him to relax slightly again, though his entire body was always filled with tension these days, no matter how hard he tried to relax. “As for the others,” she went on finally, “you heard them today. I told them you were raped -- abused -- humiliated -- and they didn’t. Care.”

Though her tone was soft, there was a cruelty there that made him flinch slightly at the words, swallowing back his own bitter shame with a sob.

“You mean nothing to them, Spike,” she continued in a nearly hypnotic whisper. “They *hate* you. It doesn’t bother them in the least to see you suffering. *I’m* the one that matters to them, Spike. Me. I’m the Slayer -- and when it all comes down to it, they’ll do what I say. Think what I want them to think. You know that as well as I do.”

She was silent, waiting for a response, and he nodded against her shoulder again, feeling his heart breaking under the weight of the despair her words were birthing within him anew.

“I’m the only one that should matter to *you*, too, Spike,” she reminded him, a slightly warning note to her voice. “I say what happens to you. Your entire existence is *mine*. All you need to concern yourself with is making. Me. Happy. This is your life, now, Spike. You are mine -- and *no one* is going to help you. Do you understand that?”

She drew back then, her coldly glittering eyes boring into his until he dropped his gaze, nodding submissively as he whispered, “Y-yes, Buffy.”

“Good,” she smiled warmly as her hand stroked down the side of his face, and he flinched at the contact. Her voice took on a voice of soft command as she stepped back away from him and ordered quietly, “Now get on your knees.”

***********************************

 

“We have to help him.”

Dawn frowned up at the pacing blonde witch from her seat on the couch, confusion in her dark eyes. Tara had refused to tell her what was urgent, why it was so important that she go back with her to her apartment before returning hope to spend time with Spike, until they were in the privacy of Tara’s own living room -- and as far as Dawn was concerned, Tara *still* wasn’t making much sense.

“Tara,” she protested, shaking her head, “he’s fine. We were wrong. Didn’t you hear what Buffy…?”

“I heard what she said,” Tara interrupted, her voice trembling with anger, though it was obvious that it was not aimed in Dawn’s direction. “I think she was lying.”

Dawn’s eyes widened with surprise. “Tara -- why would she make up something so horrible? And -- do you really think that Spike would just sit there and let her tell such a humiliating lie about him? Don’t you think he would have said something? Spike’s not so much good with the whole keeping quiet thing.”

“Unless she made him.”

Dawn blinked, surprised -- and unsettled by those words. She swallowed back a sick lump that had formed in her throat, searching Tara’s face with troubled eyes as she asked hesitantly, “Tara -- you don’t really think that Buffy’d go that far, do you? To make up some big elaborate lie and tell it to all of her friends? To *me*? And -- and *why* would she do it? You know? It just -- doesn’t make sense.”

“Abuse doesn’t make sense, Dawnie,” Tara said, her voice slightly sharper than she meant it to be. “It’s all about control -- and power -- and if Buffy’s gotten a taste of that control, with Spike -- you might be surprised the lengths she’d go to to keep it.”

“But -- Spike didn’t seem like he was faking,” Dawn observed after a moment’s thought, her eyes focused on the wall as she remembered the scene. “He seemed like he’d really been -- been hurt. I -- I took his hand under the table, and he -- he totally broke down, Tara. Crying. Not just crying -- *sobbing*. That’s so not Spike, Tara. Not unless something like that really did happen to him.”

Tara said nothing, just looked up to meet the girl’s eyes, an anguished expression in her own that said silently the things she could not bring herself to say aloud -- not to Dawnie.

Dawn’s face went pale as understanding came over her, and she shook her head in denial. “Tara -- no. Buffy would never…”

“She already has. More than once,” Tara finally *did* find the words, when faced with Dawn’s flat denial. She knew that there was only one way to convince her of what Buffy was capable of, and that was with the truth of what she knew she had already done. “Spike told me,” she added for emphasis, holding the younger girl’s gaze.

Dawn stared at her with rising horror, still shaking her head in denial. “No -- not Buffy,” she whispered. “Tara -- you’re making this up. She wouldn’t…”

“She did.”

Dawn flinched at the simple words, as if at a blow, still staring at the older girl. “So -- so you think -- what?” she asked, her voice trembling with an almost hysterical note to it. “You think Buffy -- *raped* him, and then made up that story -- to cover it up? Or what?”

“To cover it up,” Tara nodded, “and to explain why he’s staying in the basement.” She looked back up at Dawn, her eyes serious and concerned. “He was so scared, Dawnie. I talked to him, after you walked away -- and Dawn, he’s hiding something…and whatever it is, he’s scared to death. Of *Buffy*. She’s hurt him before, Dawnie, a lot. That much I’ve known for a long time. You -- you weren’t there those nights -- when she hurt him so bad he couldn’t even walk. She *broke* his legs, Dawn. He was *terrified* of her, way before -- this. And he still is.”

Dawn was silent, tears welling in her eyes as she found herself faced with a painful truth she did not want to believe.

After a moment, Tara continued, “I think she found out he was running away the night he was going to leave -- and she stopped him. I think she’s kept him a prisoner somewhere -- most likely in your basement -- since then. And I think today was just part of a big fake-out to make us all accept it, so she can just keep on doing whatever she wants to do to him.”

She waited again, allowing those words to sink in, before she added softly but firmly, “And we have to stop her.”

Dawn was quiet, thinking it through, her jaw set with determination, though her eyes were full and flowing over with tears.

“We have to know,” she said finally. “One way or the other. I have to -- to find out if it’s true or not.”

Tara wanted to retort that she *knew* it was true, but wisely held her tongue. This was the sort of thing Dawn would have to see for herself to fully believe.

“Do you think -- do you think he’d tell me?” Dawn’s voice was uncertain, tentative.

“No,” Tara replied without hesitation. “He wouldn’t want to get you involved, Dawnie. Neither he or Buffy is gonna say anything to give anything away. You’re pretty much just gonna have to -- to catch them in the act.”

Dawn frowned, troubled. “Okay -- but how? And -- if Buffy’s really as dangerous as you think she is -- isn’t that kind of -- well, dangerous?”

Tara shook her head, a slow smile beginning on her lips, as an idea began to take shape in her head. “Not with this idea I just got. Okay -- here’s what I’m thinking…”


	27. Chapter 27

“Okay, note to self,” Dawn muttered as she made her way down the dark stairs into the temporarily empty basement. “The ‘there are no monsters in the basement’ mantra isn’t much good when your sister’s the Slayer.”

Unfortunately, Dawn knew better than most that there was a fairly good chance of finding actual monsters in the basement of the Summers’ home – if slightly less of a chance than usual.

Buffy was out patrolling, and Spike had gone with her, for once leaving the house empty – except for Dawn.

Just that fact in and of itself was hurtful to the youngest Summers. She could remember a time not so very long ago when Buffy would not have considered leaving Dawn alone in the house in broad daylight, let alone during the late hours in which she patrolled. Lately, it didn’t seem as if Buffy cared much what she did at all.

Spike had seemed more concerned about leaving Dawn alone than Buffy had. He had suggested, in a tone that Dawn now noticed seemed far more hesitant and subdued than his usual way of speaking, that he stay with Dawn while Buffy patrolled, or that they take

Dawn to stay with someone else while they were patrolling – and the look her sister had given him had chilled Dawn’s blood.

Buffy’s tone of voice had been mild and careless as she had told Spike that Dawn was growing up, and had to be allowed the freedom to be on her own every now and then – and Spike had quietly, nervously accepted her words as they had quickly left the house.

As much as she did not want to see it, Dawn could not help but notice the fear in his downcast eyes as Buffy had firmly gripped his arm and led him out the front door.

“She wouldn’t hurt him,” Dawn had told herself as she had returned to her room, watching out her window until Buffy and Spike had disappeared down the sidewalk, out of sight, toward one of Sunnydale’s numerous cemeteries. “Not for something like that…”

But she had noticed as a hard lump of apprehension had formed in her throat, that Buffy did seem to be yelling at him, though she couldn’t hear the words, and she did not let up her grip on his arm the entire time. She wondered uneasily if Buffy knew that there was a possibility that she could still see them from this window – and jumped back with a startled little cry, when just before turning the corner, her sister’s head turned back toward the window, her expression angry and threatening.

Her heart pounding with fear, Dawn sat down on her bed, feeling sick to her stomach as her mind raced to catch up with what she had seen – which, admittedly, had not been that much.

*She probably didn’t see me,* she told herself. *She was looking back to see if anyone was watching – but she probably didn’t see me…I moved too quick…yeah…I was pretty fast…*

She sighed, swallowing back the sick feeling as she reached under her bed for the item she had secreted there earlier, the key to Tara ’s plan. She really had no idea whether Buffy had seen her or not – but either way, it did not change what they were going to do.

After tonight – it really wouldn’t matter.

Dawn made her way down the stairs and to the basement door, hoping that Buffy would have left it unlocked. After all, Spike was with her, so there was no reason for her to keep it locked, right? Not unless – unless there were other things down there, things that she was trying to hide.

*What if it’s locked?* she thought, the sick feeling returning. *Then what? How can we…?*

The thought died a joyful death as the handle turned under her hand, and the door easily opened.

 

**************************************

A couple of hours later, Dawn lay in the darkness of her own bedroom, the rest of the implements of the plan laid out on her nightstand before her, a part of her excited and relieved that, as planned, she was gathering the necessary evidence to prove what Buffy had been doing to Spike. That same part of her felt a sense of pride and accomplishment that she had played such an integral part in the plan, bringing about their success with a simple baby monitoring set and a handheld tape recorder.

The other part of her was shattered, broken, and drenched with her tears, as she listened to the voices and other sounds coming through the speaker of the baby monitor, as they were recorded onto the tiny recorder placed beside it.

Every word only served to break her heart more thoroughly.

 

***************************************

“Please!” Spike gasped, barely able to catch his breath for the pain as Buffy stalked toward the place where he lay – where she had violently thrown him from the top of the basement stairs. “Buffy, don’t…”

“Shut. Up,” the Slayer ordered coldly, catching him by the collar of his shirt and slamming him painfully into the wall, moving right up into his face. “You just keep your stupid mouth shut, do you hear me, Spike?”

He struggled for control, barely able even to gain his bearings from the violence of her attack, and was just beginning to nod his head shakily in response, when she jerked him away from the wall and slammed him back into it again.

“I said *do you hear me*?” she snarled, backhanding him and knocking his head back into the wall again.

“Y-yes,” he whispered, desperate for her to know that he was trying to respond, trying to keep up, through the pain and confusion of this attack – this relentless attack for which he still had not quite figured out the reason. “Yes, Buffy…”

 

*******************************

*I said *shut up*!*

Dawn had never heard her sister’s voice so full of hatred, so thoroughly dark and terrifying; and something deep within her heart cried out at the injustice of the way she was treating Spike, the unfairness and thoughtless brutality, toying with him in a game that there was no way he could win.

She flinched at the sounds that followed the furious words, painfully aware that they were evidence of a savage beating that was being dealt to her friend – while she lay here…and listened.

*You can’t stop her, Dawnie,* Tara ’s words echoed in her mind. *Not by yourself. All you’re supposed to be doing is gathering the evidence. That’s it. Then, you bring it to me, and we’ll go from there.*

*Open your mouth, Spike…*

An anguished cry of pain echoed from the tiny speaker, sending a chill of sick dread through Dawn’s heart, as she heard her friend’s voice begging, babbling a pitiful stream of desperate words.

*No, no, please, don’t do this, Buffy, please, no, *no*…*

 

***************************************

Her blows had sent him to the floor, her fists and feet delivering a relentless attack, until he had been huddled helplessly in the corner of the room, unable to escape, unable to defend himself – utterly at her mercy.

Except that – she had none.

She had given him no time to recover, before stalking toward him, gripping his hair and yanking him back onto his back on the floor, holding his head down as she straddled his waist, pinning his arms to his sides. Leaning over him, still holding his hair in a cruel grip, she had snarled her order, “Open your mouth, Spike.”

He opened his eyes as he hesitantly obeyed her command – knowing no response to her at this point but obedience – but his eyes had widened with horror when he had seen the tiny glass vial she held in her hand, and he had tried uselessly to pull away from her, begging her desperately not to do what she appeared ready to do.

Angrily she used her hand in his hair to slam his head against the floor, dizzying him and momentarily stilling his struggles, as she leaned down close to his face to warn him coldly, “Don’t be stupid! You’re gonna do what I tell you to do, Spike. If you can’t keep your mouth shut, I’ll just have to help you. Now what did I tell you to do, Baby?”

“O-open my mouth…please…oh, God, Buffy, please don’t do this,” he sobbed out the words, unable to keep from it, despite the protests from the remnants of his pride.

As she leaned in closer, the bottle hovering over his face, sheer instinct would not allow his body to obey her heartless command.

*********************************

 

Dawn had no way of knowing exactly what it was that her sister was doing to Spike, and honestly, she did not really *want* to know -- but she knew that it had to be horrible, had to be beyond her comprehension, to reduce the proud, bold vampire she had known to such a desperate, pleading state.

She realized all at once through her shock that the comforter beneath her slack jaw was soaked with the tears that had run down from her face into the fabric, and she shook her head with denial at the troubling sounds of the slight struggle now emanating from the speaker in front of her.

*You don’t have to listen to it all, Dawnie…*

Once again Tara’s words echoed through her mind, as her hand hovered over the knob that would turn the sound off.

*Once you know you have enough to prove to the others how -- how far she’s really gone -- then you can turn it off…*

But somehow, she couldn’t quite bring herself to turn it off.

She didn’t want to hear it -- but she didn’t want to have to wonder what she *hadn’t* heard, either.

In the next few moments, however, her feelings on the matter -- and her sister -- would change forever.

*************************************

 

“You’ll open your mouth, now, Spike,” Buffy sneered softly, her warm breath a further assault on his trembling skin, her hand holding his head firmly in place, “or -- well -- I could go upstairs, and -- find other things to do…”

It took a few moments for Spike to realize what it was that she was really saying, and when it became clear to him, his eyes opened wide, meeting hers over his tightly closed lips with an expression of panic and disbelief, as he shook his head desperately.

“Y-you -- wouldn’t,” he whispered, a note of heartache and anguish to his voice. “Buffy, you wouldn’t hurt her…you wouldn’t hurt Dawn…”

*****************************************

 

At the sound of her own name, Dawn’s breath had caught in her throat, her eyes widening in shock and horror. Until Spike had said those words, it had not occurred to her that her sister might be threatening *her* safety.

*Surely -- surely she didn’t mean -- Buffy wouldn’t…*

*Hurt her?* Buffy scoffed, her voice tinny through the small speaker on the baby monitor. *Spike -- you’ll do what I say -- or I’ll *kill* her!*

A cold, aching sensation began to slowly spread through Dawn’s chest, seeping through her veins, numbing her entire body, as she slowly shook her head, trying to deny what she had heard so clearly.

It couldn’t be true…it *couldn’t* be…

But she had heard it, with her own ears. It *was* true.

Her tears began to flow again, as deep sobs overwhelmed her, and she lowered her face to the bed and cried like the lost little girl that she was.

*****************************************

 

“No,” Spike whispered, his voice trembling as he closed his eyes, fear evident in the taut, terrified expression on his face. “No, Buffy, don’t hurt her -- I’ll -- I’ll do whatever you tell me to do…please…”

“Open. Your. Mouth.”

Trembling, doing his best to prepare himself for the anguish he knew he was about to feel, Spike slowly obeyed -- knowing that he could do nothing else. He knew full well that Buffy meant her threat, that she was more than capable at this point of doing serious damage to her little sister -- and he could not let that happen, no matter what the cost to him.

Buffy laughed softly, a quiet sound of wicked triumph, as she lowered the vial slightly to the side, holding his gaze as she poured it out onto the stone floor beside him.

Most of it.

“Please, Spike,” she scoffed softly, though the look in her eyes was deadly serious. “I’ve tried that trick with a vamp before -- instant dustage. And I am *sooo* not through with you yet.”

As she spoke, she took a soft rag that she had often used to gag him before, and poured the tiny bit of holy water she had left in the bottle into it, rubbing it between her palms to dampen the rag more thoroughly. A wicked gleam in her eyes, she smirked at him as she went on,

“This should be diluted enough. Just -- try not to swallow too much.” She gave a calloused shrug as she shoved the rag into his open but unwilling mouth.

Instantly, his body attempted to reject it, as the moisture in it began to scald the sensitive flesh on the roof of his mouth -- but Buffy’s hand quickly clamped over his lips, holding it firmly in as with her other hand, she unbuckled his belt and tore it from the loops of his jeans.

“Unh-uh-uh,” she teasingly rebuked him as she wrapped the belt around his face, using it to both blind him, and to hold the gag in his mouth, buckling it tightly behind his head. Moving in close, one hand possessively on the back of his head, she smiled at his weak, pleading moans of pain as she smiled into his ear, “You’ve got to be punished. You should have done it because I *told* you to -- not because I threatened Dawn. It shouldn’t matter *what* I threaten you with -- you need to obey me because it’s *me* -- do you understand me, Spike?”

He nodded weakly, only because he knew that if he didn’t, he would be further punished, his eyes rolling back as he struggled for consciousness against the searing pain that was seeping through his mouth, coating the back of his throat with burning agony.

**********************************

 

“And besides,” Buffy went on, and Dawn could almost hear the shrug of her shoulders in her voice. “If I want to kill her -- I’ll kill her. You can’t stop me, Spike. I’ll do what I want. Think about that.”

Dawn’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with fear, as she heard footsteps slowly ascending up the basement stairs, through the speaker on her nightstand. Buffy’s chilling words slowly sank into her mind, and she swallowed hard as she quickly reached with trembling hands to turn off the baby monitor, the tape recorder, and to shove both items hurriedly under her bed.

Buffy was coming upstairs.

**********************************

 

Spike’s heart sank with anguish and despair, every bit as torturous as the physical pain she was subjecting him to, even in her absence, as a cold sense of terror came over him at her parting words, the words she had spoken to him as she had chained his wrists above his head again, leaving him alone and helpless in the basement once again.

Dawn.

He could not protect her, no matter how badly he wanted to -- not against Buffy, not the way she was now.

Tears streamed from his eyes, and he struggled uselessly against the chains, wondering desperately if Buffy would now decide to hurt her, just to prove her point to him, just to punish him for his resistance.

*Stupid,* he berated himself through his tears. *If she kills her it’s your fault, you know that! Stupid, stupid…*

He choked back a desperate sob that only served to increase his physical pain, as his heart sank with the realization…

He had failed her.

***********************************

 

Dawn’s heart was pounding frantically in her chest as her sister’s footsteps sounded softly on the stairs leading up to her bedroom. Buffy’s horrifying words still echoed in her mind, her thoughts racing as she tried to decide whether or not she had really meant them.

*She wouldn’t really…she just said that to…Spike…just to…to scare him…she wouldn’t…Buffy…oh, no…she wouldn’t, would she….?*

Dawn’s thoughts were half-formed, confused, ripped to shreds and scattered by her panic, as she heard her bedroom door softly creaking open.

“Dawnie?”

Her heart thudded in her throat, as she lay as still as possible, her back to the light from the door, her eyes closed, hoping and praying that Buffy would simply turn and walk away when she thought that she was asleep.

She did.

And once she had heard Buffy’s own bedroom door closing quietly behind her, Dawn felt her sobs welling up within her again, sobs of mingled relief, terror, confusion -- and guilt.

Tara had told her that she could not really stop Buffy -- that by going down to the basement, as she would surely want to, she would only succeed in getting both her and Spike hurt worse -- and she knew that her friend was right.

But that didn’t make her feel any better about lying up here and listening and doing nothing while Spike suffered.

While he suffered to protect *her*.

*You failed him,* she accused herself softly, tears streaming from her eyes. *You should have done something -- you failed him.*


	28. Chapter 28

Dawn quickly found that sleep was a lost cause tonight.

She tossed and turned, each soft creak or slight sound that she might usually have attributed to the “house settling”, whatever that meant, now became a dark threat. Had her sister, who suddenly seemed a stranger to her, slipping through the darkness across the hall to her room, ready to carry out the horrifying threat she had used against Spike?

And what about Spike?

Was he all right, down there in the basement alone, locked in, and probably chained up?

Restless and sick with worry, Dawn had tossed and turned a bit more, before sitting up and pulling out the baby monitor, turning it on again, hoping for some sign of how her friend was doing. She turned on the speaker, and checked for the little red light to be sure it was on, when she heard nothing at all.

Complete and total silence.

*Maybe he’s asleep,* she thought hopefully, though the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach only intensified as she listened to the stillness, hoping for some sign that her friend was even still there. *Or -- or he got away!* she thought with a rush of irrational hope. *Or she -- she wouldn’t have…no, she didn’t…*

Dawn jumped out of bed, silently stepping to her doorway and stopping for a moment, peering into the darkness of the hallway, listening for any sound to indicate that anyone besides her was awake at the moment. No sound met her ears, so she slipped out into the hall, padding down the stairs in her bare feet and pajamas, glancing behind her once or twice in her continued fear that the monster that was her sister might be lying in wait, ready to catch her by surprise.

She walked silently into the kitchen, glancing again behind her nervously as she made her way to the basement door, and was not surprised to find the padlock Buffy had put on it, firmly in place and locked. She pulled at it for a moment, then rolled her eyes at her own foolishness.

If Buffy was going to go to all that trouble to keep her from finding Spike, she was not going to use a cheap lock.

After all, she *did* have a history of getting into her sister’s secret things.

She glanced at the other side of the door, trying to see how the hinges were attached, wondering if there was a possibility of opening the door that way. She swallowed hard, frowning with uncertainty, drawing in a deep breath. She was pretty sure that she could get the door off its hinges, but not so sure that she could do it silently, or that she could get it back on unnoticed when she was finished.

She needed advice.

She needed a plan.

She needed Tara.

**********************************

 

Tara’s sleepy eyes widened in shock when she looked through the peephole on the door of her apartment, to find the Slayer’s little sister standing there, anxiously looking back down the hall the way she had come.

She quickly opened the door, drawing the girl in and glancing around the hallway before quietly shutting the door again.

“Dawn! What are you doing, Sweetie? Did you come all the way across town by yourself?”

Dawn nodded, biting her lower lip and staring up at the older girl through wide, fearful eyes. Tara took in her expression with dismay, noting that Dawn was trembling violently, either with the cold of the night, or some as yet unnamed emotion; and her eyes were brimming with tears that she was struggling to keep back from falling.

“Dawnie?” she said softly, uncertainly, a concerned frown on her face. “What is it, Sweetie? What…?” Memory finally managed to pierce the fog of her sleep, and Tara glanced down then, to see the small tape recorder clutched in Dawn’s shaking hand. “What…what did you hear?” she asked finally in a gentle whisper, reaching down to take it from her hand.

They had decided that, since the actual recording would be taking place late at night, it would be better to meet the next day and go over it, rather than to arouse Buffy’s suspicions by Dawn’s calling Tara from the house -- let alone sneaking out in the middle of the night to go to her apartment.

But Tara was quickly getting the impression that whatever Dawn had heard had left the girl with little choice but to seek her comfort.

“W-we have to get him out of there,” Dawn whispered, her wide, stricken eyes locked onto Tara’s in horrified shock. “Tara -- it was awful…she…she…” She shook her head, words failing her to describe it, before repeating intently, her voice trembling with the tears that now streaked her face, “…we have to get him out of there, right away…”

Tara thought for a moment, realizing that whatever Dawn had heard, it had to be very serious to bring about this reaction -- and also realizing that it probably meant that Buffy was very dangerous, and risking running into her in the process of rescuing Spike was probably not a good idea.

“Okay -- okay, Dawnie, listen -- we need to work this out,” she said, her voice carefully level and calm as she held the girl’s gaze firmly. “Is Buffy asleep right now?”

Dawn nodded. “I think so. She -- she went to bed.”

“And does she work tomorrow?”

Dawn nodded, sniffing back her tears, which were beginning to ebb as she found something practical on which to focus her thoughts, rather than the horrific verbal pictures still etched into her mind. “She goes in at ten.”

“So,” Tara concluded carefully, studying the younger girl’s expression. “We can be pretty sure that she’s not going to do anything to Spike between now and then -- right? It’s like, four o’clock now. So -- if she has to get up by nine or so, there’s no way she’d have time…right?”

Dawn nodded, rolling her eyes in disgust toward her sister. “She usually oversleeps anyway.”

“Okay -- okay, good,” Tara nodded, thinking it through as she went along. “So -- we’re safe to assume that Spike’s not going to get hurt any worse between now and ten tomorrow. It’s probably better if we wait until she’s at work to get him out of there. Then, we can meet with the others before she gets off, show them…the tape…and see what we can come up with to stop her. Okay?”

Dawn nodded, her tears ebbing now, but still subdued and heavyhearted from the things she had heard.

“Is he -- okay, do you think?” Tara asked hesitantly, her features twisted in an apprehensive grimace of concern.

Dawn bit her lip uncertainly, shaking her head as she replied, “I-I’m not sure. He’s -- quiet. I think he might be -- unconscious.”

Tara frowned, worried. “I hate to leave him there,” she said softly. “Even for a minute longer. But -- if she catches us…and if we wait just a little while, it’ll be so much safer…”

Dawn was silent, worried as well, but content to leave the difficult decision to the actual adult this time.

“Let me hear that tape,” Tara decided softly, going to the couch to sit down, Dawn following at her side. Once they were seated, Tara pressed the rewind button, waited, and then pressed play.

As the brutal scene played out in Dawn’s ears for the second time that night, fresh tears streaming down her face, Tara’s expression gradually became more and more dark and troubled. Her eyes narrowed with anger at Buffy’s cruelty, welling with tears at Spike’s suffering -- but toward the end of the encounter, her frown took on a puzzled, thoughtful element.

“Why does she want him to open his mouth?” she murmured, shaking her head in confusion, listening as the conversation went on.

*Please, Spike!* Buffy laughed cruelly on the tape. *I’ve tried that trick with a vamp before -- instant dustage. And I am *sooo* not through with you yet!*

“What trick?” Tara’s soft voice, barely over a whisper, was increasingly frustrated, increasingly impatient, her foot tapping rapidly against the floor an indication of her edgy nerves. “What did she do to him?”

Her eyes widened with horror, and dawning realization, as she listened to Buffy tell Spike he had to be punished, heard his anguished moan of pain, and her footsteps on the stairs, just before the tape fell into silence.

Wide-eyed, Tara looked up at Dawn in startled alarm. “Dawnie,” she whispered in horror. “Whatever she did to him -- it was hurting him…*after she left*…did you hear that?”

“Oh my God,” Dawn whispered, staring down at the now-silent tape recorder in stunned comprehension. She looked back up at Tara, fear in her eyes. “Tara, we have to get him out of there *now*!”

“We’ll just have to be quiet,” Tara stated without hesitation, tossing the tape recorder down on the couch and rising to her feet. “We can’t just leave him there to suffer.”

Dawn followed Tara quickly as she grabbed her jacket and rushed toward the door. “What if she goes down to check on him in the morning? How are we gonna have a plan in place that quickly? Can we even get a hold of everybody this late?”

Tara stopped in the doorway, frowning as she glanced thoughtfully back to the discarded tape recorder. “Probably not,” she admitted grimly.

After a moment of silence passed between them, Dawn shook her head, at a loss. “Tara -- what are you thinking?”

Quickly, Tara strode across the room, picking up the tape recorder and putting it in her pocket. “I’m thinking road trip,” she muttered her response as she stalked out the door and down the hallway, leaving a stunned Dawn momentarily standing there trying to comprehend her words, and then rushing after her to catch up.

************************************

 

By now, all Spike was aware of was pain.

The holy water Buffy had poured into the rag in his mouth was not very much, and there were large parts of the rag that were not even damp. But there were other parts of it, parts that had been in contact with the sensitive interior of his mouth for hours now -- and he could no longer be conscious of anything else but the searing agony as the deadly fluid ate into his tender flesh.

He could not hold back the feverish, agonized moans that escaped his lips; the part of his mind that had warned him to keep silence, not to risk further angering Buffy, if she happened to be within hearing range, had long since been overwhelmed by his pain. Fortunately, the gag in his mouth kept his panicked cries of pain from being loud enough to really be heard outside the basement, let alone by Buffy in her bedroom upstairs.

His wrists were chafed and bleeding from his instinctive, unconscious struggles against the iron bonds that held them. He knew from past experience that he would not be able to break them, but in his mindless desperation, his body continued to try, continued to attempt to find a way to wrench the tormenting fabric from his bound mouth.

A soft thumping sound from upstairs suddenly drew his attention, pulling him partially out of his agony, and into a sense of terror. He forced himself to fall silent, his blinded eyes struggling to open, to see her before she reached him -- because it had to be her, didn’t it? No one else would be moving about near the basement door so late at night.

A second soft thump followed the first, and now he could hear hushed whispers from upstairs, could see a faint light through the gaps at the top and bottom of the belt over his eyes.

And then -- footsteps on the stairs.

Two sets.

Neither of them hers.

He froze completely, his mind racing with panic. In his pain-induced haze of confusion, he could not recognize who was approaching him, only knew that somehow, someone had found him -- but they could not help him. He knew that much for sure.

And when she found out that someone knew -- she would kill him.

First, she would punish him, torture him -- and then, she would kill him.

“Oh…oh my God…no…Spike, no…”

That voice, Spike recognized.

He froze, his heart sinking with dread and despair. Dawn would want to help him, of course she would, the girl was as sweet and loving to him as anyone had been in a hundred years or more -- but she couldn’t. He didn’t know how she had managed to find him, how she had even managed to get in, as he had heard Buffy lock the basement door behind her.

All he knew was that if Buffy found out that she knew about what she was doing -- she would kill the girl to protect her secret.

*Dawn,* he cried out in his mind, moaning against the gag in his mouth though he could not speak the words aloud. *Bit, please, *please* go…get out of here, before…*

“Oh, Spike…oh my poor Spike…”

Suddenly, he felt his body begin to shake, as the sweet tears of sympathy in that second familiar voice, the aching compassion he heard there, went to work on his battered, love-starved heart. He fought to keep back his tears, ashamed that she should see him like this, after all she had done to try to help him -- and how he had rejected that help.

Why had he ever rejected it?

He *had* rejected it -- hadn’t he?

He couldn’t even remember anymore.

When her warm hands touched his shoulders gently, cautiously, he felt his shaking intensify, as his tears overwhelmed him, flowing down from under the belt across his eyes, soaking his trembling lips as she reached behind his head to unfasten the belt.

She removed it carefully, and he kept his eyes closed for a moment in shame and uncertainty, as he heard a soft hiss through her teeth, as she got her first glimpse of his seared, scarred lips, burned by the holy water-soaked rag that even now, he did not dare to spit out.

Gently, Tara gripped it and tugged carefully, wincing when he let out a soft, pleading cry of pain, as the rag was torn from the flesh it had melded to, and he tasted his own blood mingling with the sickening charred flavor in his mouth.

“What did she do to you?” Tara whispered, and he felt her gentle hands on his face, one hand running around behind to cup the back of his head, as her very tenderness and compassion made his tears flow harder.

While she had freed him from the horror of the gag, Dawn had been working on the chains at his wrists, and after a moment he felt his tight, aching arms go slack, falling numbly to his sides -- and he would have collapsed to the floor with them, had Tara not gently caught him, her arms around him holding him close, and cradling him to her as she went down to her knees beside him.

His body gave way to violent, convulsive shudders, as his hands blindly clutched at her sides, and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer and cradling his head against her chest.

“Shhh,” she whispered soothingly, placing a tender kiss on the top of his head. “It’s all right -- it’s gonna be all right, Sweetheart…we’re gonna get you out of here…”

Her words drew deep, wrenching sobs from his chest, though he could not tell whether from hope and relief, or from the deep terror within him, that quiet, insistent voice that kept telling him that there was no way he could ever escape *her*. They had to leave him, had to get out of this place, or she would come back, and kill them both with him.

He tried to tell her, tried to warn her, but found that his tongue, his mouth, was too badly mangled by the burns of the holy water for him to form the words. They came out instead as an anguished, desperate moan of agony and despair, as he clung to her, sobbing against her breast.

“Shhh,” she urged him again, her voice full of understanding and compassion, yet firm and with a slight air of command -- and he fell silent, trained to obedience by months of abusive conditioning. “Shh, can’t let her hear you, Sweetheart…”

He could smell the salt of Tara’s own tears, as she gently helped him to his feet, carefully checking to be sure that he could walk on his own -- and he could, with the help of the girls. Starvation and Buffy’s brutal beating earlier that evening had left him battered and limping, and bowed down under a weight of shame and fear and confusion.

Broken and ashamed and simply overwhelmed by the suddenness of what was happening, Spike couldn’t even bring himself to meet either girl’s eyes, simply allowing himself to be gently led, as they hurried to prepare to make their escape.

“Come on,” Tara said softly once she was sure they were ready. “Let’s get out of here.”


	29. Chapter 29

As they made their way carefully up the basement stairs into the kitchen, Dawn and Tara were each painfully aware of every faint, barely audible sound caused by their cautious footsteps, their occasional whispered voices only when necessary, and Spike’s labored, anxious breathing.

Tara found some dark, fearful part of her on the edge of snapping at him to stop it, to be quiet, because he didn’t need to breathe anyway, and even the softest sound felt as if it would bring the Slayer down upon them at any moment -- but of course, she didn’t. She swallowed back a sick feeling of guilt at the very thought, realizing that the sharp, rapid breaths Spike was taking were simply evidence of the terror he was experiencing -- and she gently tightened her supporting arm about his trembling waist, shifting her body in closer to his.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, the words barely a breath against his ear. “It’s gonna be all right, Sweetheart…just calm down, okay? We’re gonna get you out of here…”

Spike lowered his head against her shoulder gratefully, in an attempt to stifle the involuntary sounds of his terror, nodding almost automatically, as if only because he knew that it was what was expected of him, not out of any real trust in her words -- and Tara could not blame him. She was not quite sure yet herself that it was really going to be all right; and she would not be, not until they were safely out of Buffy’s house and well on their way out of town.

Perhaps, she acknowledged with a grim sense of apprehension, not even then.

She was just glad that they were only a few short yards from the back door off the kitchen, and not further into the house. If they had had any further to go, she was not sure that her precarious emotional state could have borne it.

Dawn glanced anxiously toward the doorway leading into the living room, as Tara hurried them quietly toward the door, slowly easing it open so as to avoid the usual squeaking sounds associated with most screen doors. Once they were all outside on the back porch, she closed it softly behind them, and Dawn helped her get Spike down the stairs, down the walkway and onto the sidewalk.

Only there did Tara finally stop for a moment, her eyes widening as a sudden question occurred to her. She gently turned Spike to face her, one hand under his chin tilting his downcast eyes up to meet hers. His fearful flinch at the personal touch troubled her, but she didn’t have time to deal with it right then.

“Spike,” she whispered, one hand pressed gently to his cheek, firmly insisting that he face her. “Look at me, Sweetie…”

The depths of shame and anguish in those painfully expressive blue eyes took her breath away when they locked onto hers, but Tara forced herself to ask the all important question that she had just remembered.

“Spike -- what did she do with the car?”

**********************************

 

By the time the three of them reached the small side parking lot where Spike had left Tara’s car, the night that Buffy had taken him, the battered, weakened vampire was beyond exhaustion. Tara felt sorry that they had to move so quickly, that they could not take time to allow him to rest and recover; but she knew that Buffy could wake up at any time, and discover the mess that had been made of her basement door, and the fact that her little sex slave was missing.

Her eyes narrowed with restrained rage at that thought, her jaw setting with angry determination as she helped Spike to lean against the side of the car.

Buffy would never get the chance to touch him again, not if she had anything to say about it.

The car door was unlocked, the key still in the ignition as Spike had left it -- and as Dawn helped Spike into the backseat, getting in beside him, Tara began to piece the missing parts of the story together.

“You came back here that night, didn’t you?” she asked softly, turning around in the seat to give the frightened vampire a searching look.

He immediately looked away, his eyes wide and nearly panicked, as he shook his head frantically and tried to whisper a response that came out garbled and unintelligible -- but Tara knew by the look on his face what it was he was trying to say.

“Spike,” she said firmly, reaching out to take his hand in hers, holding on gently when he would have pulled it away. “Look at me.” When he did, she said slowly, intently, “You have *nothing* to be sorry for, Sweetheart. Do you hear me? *Nothing*. It’s okay if you came back -- I am so far from angry with you right now…it just doesn’t matter if you came back or not, okay? I’m just trying to figure out what happened? Okay?”

Spike only held her gaze through about half of her words, and when she finished he nodded miserably, his entire body shaking violently with the shock and fear of what was happening.

“You came back…”

He nodded again.

“She found you here…”

Another nod.

“And I’m guessing she never knew you had my car, did she? She didn’t even know what my car looks like, and she didn’t see you driving it -- right?”

Spike hesitated just a moment, as if unsure, before nodding cautiously.

“Okay. Well that’s one thing we’ve got going for us,” Tara sighed matter-of-factly. “It’ll make it harder for her to find us.”

“But not for long,” Dawn pointed out quietly, her eyes wide and solemn as she pulled her friend closer to her in the backseat, pulling his head gently down on her shoulder and running her fingers comfortingly through his hair as she spoke to the older girl in the driver’s seat. “Because Willow knows what your car looks like. And the second she finds out you’re missing…” Dawn’s eyes widened with new realization, as she added nervously, “…she’ll use magic to find us, Tara.”

Tara drew in a deep breath, a troubled frown creasing her brow. “I know,” she sighed softly. “I -- I know a few things…I think I can hide us for a while. But -- but not forever.”

“Tara,” Dawn asked quietly after a moment, her wide eyes suddenly very young and uncertain, “where are we going?”

“I don’t know,” Tara admitted. “Just -- somewhere far away from here. If we’d -- if we’d had more time to plan it -- but we couldn’t stop -- what she was doing to him *tonight*, without letting her know that we’re on to her -- and we couldn’t *not* stop it…I don’t know, Dawnie, I just -- I guess we just have to take things as they come…”

Her words cut off as her attention was drawn to Spike, who was shaking his head emphatically, his eyes wide with alarm. He urgently sought her gaze until he caught it, and then glanced pointedly down toward the mark on his leg, his trembling hand hovering over it as he looked back up at her, a silent question in his eyes as to whether she understood.

Tara’s eyes widened with understanding. “Oh, God, Spike…she can track you with that, can’t she?”

Spike nodded, swallowing hard as he lowered his eyes.

“What? Track you through what?” Dawn frowned, worried as she looked between the two of them.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tara decided after a moment, shaking her head. “It doesn’t change anything. I won’t leave you there again, Spike -- I won’t -- and even if we did, we can’t get that door back on ourselves…”

“Yeah,” Dawn muttered a bit sheepishly, glancing apologetically up at Spike. “I sort of -- bent the hinges…”

“…she’s gonna know, one way or another. And she can either know, and we can still be within her reach…or she can know, and we can be hundreds of miles away. We’re going, and the first chance we get, we’ll find a magic shop and try to find a way to break that bond…”

*Maybe Giles would help…* The thought crossed Tara’s mind, but she was uncertain just then as to whether or not that was a good idea. Giles might be willing to help them, if he understood just how far gone his Slayer really was -- but it was just as likely that he would believe Buffy over them, and take her side, placing them in even worse danger than they had been before.

“What bond?” Dawn asked, sounding a bit annoyed with yet another grown up topic of conversation which was apparently being kept from her.

“I’ll explain while we’re driving,” Tara assured her quickly, a bit impatiently, “but first things first -- we have to have a plan -- which as far as I’m concerned, consists, of ‘let’s get as far away from Sunnydale as we can before Buffy wakes up’. And we have to get some blood for Spike, if those burns are gonna heal up okay...”

“On it,” Dawn muttered without hesitation, leaning forward and reaching into her pocket, one arm still around Spike’s waist, holding him close to her as she dug around for the item she was seeking.

Tara’s eyes widened when she saw the tiny silver pocketknife that Dawn had retrieved, and was now using her teeth to open the small, sharp blade.

“Dawnie, no…we’ll find another way…” she objected, frowning with concern at the thought of the young girl’s sacrificing her own blood -- although admittedly, the thought of offering her own had already occurred to Tara.

“You said it yourself,” Dawn cut her off, meeting her eyes matter-of-factly. “We have no time for pit stops -- not that we could find a butcher’s shop open this time of the night anyway. Besides, butchers outside of Sunnydale probably aren’t going to be as understanding about two girls coming in and ordering pigs’ blood, and we sure can’t wait around here until morning. Besides -- I know how to do it so it doesn’t really do much damage.”

A flash of concern and alarm in Tara’s eyes at those words drove Dawn’s gaze downward to her own arm, as her lips set with grim determination and she poised the blade above her vein.

Realizing what it was that she intended to do, Spike suddenly scrambled out from under her arm, snatching the tiny blade from her hand and backing away from her against the opposite door of the car, meeting Dawn’s eyes and shaking his head emphatically.

“Spike, don’t be dumb,” Dawn sighed impatiently, her eyes serious as she held out her hand for the knife. “I’m not gonna hurt myself, I know what I’m doing. Give me that knife, I’m not gonna just let you sit here and suffer with those burns in your mouth…you can’t even talk!”

Spike stubbornly refused, tucking the knife into the pocket of his own jeans and shaking his head again.

Frustration and fear for her friend‘s well being filled Dawn‘s voice as she snapped, “Damn it, Spike, if you don’t give me that knife, so help me, I’ll…”

Her voice trailed off as he flinched at the anger in her voice, drawing back against the door, his head turned to the side, away from her with an instinctive fear that was second nature to him now -- but he still refused to comply with her words.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, shaking her head with regret at her own temper. “Spike, I’m sorry -- it’s just -- you can’t even talk because of what she did to you, and I just -- I can’t stand to see you like this…” Tears streaked Dawn’s face as she pleaded softly, “It won’t even hurt me! I can give you just as much as you need and no more, please, Spike…”

“Dawnie,” Tara gently interrupted the tense scene between the two friends, reaching out a gentle hand to touch Dawn’s trembling arm, drawing her wide, tearful gaze up to her own, “Dawnie, Sweetie -- he doesn’t look like he’s been starving, really. Chances are she’s not been keeping blood from him -- and if he’s eaten recently…have you, Spike?”

She interrupted her own explanation with the question, and Spike nodded slowly, not looking directly at either girl.

“Okay -- so he’s eaten recently. So if I understand correctly -- now that the holy water’s not in contact with his mouth anymore, it should start to heal up on its own, without extra blood -- right?” She looked to Spike again for affirmation, her voice and eyes softening with sympathy as she added, “It *was* holy water -- right?”

He nodded again, his own eyes welling with fresh tears of shame and heartache.

Dawn instinctively reached out a hand to rest reassuringly on his arm, her attention still focused on Tara as she went on.

“So he’ll be okay. I mean, he might not heal completely without more blood -- but he can at least make it until we can get out of town, okay? Until morning? We’ll drive all night, find a place to stop, and decide what to do about blood then.”

Dawn nodded reluctantly, her head bowed, and Tara could tell that as far as she was concerned, the argument was not really over.

As far as Tara was concerned, it wasn’t, either.

Turning her mildly severe gaze on Spike, she added gently, “And just for the record, Dawn’s right. The further we get from the Hellmouth, the harder it’s likely going to be to find blood for you. Sooner or later we are going to have to at least talk about the idea of your accepting blood from us, Spike.”

Spike did not protest, but he did not agree either. He did not move at all, his eyes lowered and turned away as he swallowed hard, his mouth beginning to tremble dangerously. He bowed his head, visibly choking back a sob, and Dawn moved cautiously to pull him back into her arms.

“Spike -- it’s okay -- please -- come here,” she gently urged him, her voice barely over a whisper. “I’m sorry, Spike -- please come to me…”

Awkwardly he allowed her to embrace him again, allowed his tears to come, as Dawn wrapped her arms around him and settled them both carefully against the backseat, looking back up to Tara with a silent question in her eyes -- a question that told Tara with a devastating certainty, that she was the unofficially appointed leader of this little band of fugitives in the making.

She swallowed back her rising apprehension, that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought.

She wasn‘t quite sure that she was really up to it.

But she *was* sure that like it or not, she was going to have to be.

“Okay,” Tara whispered. “Let’s go.”


	30. Chapter 30

Only an hour had passed before Tara’s fears began to consume her mind again.

During that hour, she had given Dawn the PG-13 version of the parts of the story she had not been aware of, filling her in on what she knew about the strange mark Buffy had placed on Spike, the magical bond she had apparently initiated with him against his will.

Spike had quickly fallen asleep, in what Tara was sure was mostly a defense mechanism to allow him to deal with the trauma of the past few hours, and the escape which had to be as terrifying for him as his captivity had been. She did not know all of what had happened to him -- not yet -- but she knew that he was very afraid of Buffy even now, afraid that she might catch up to them, and of what she would do to him when she did.

And Tara could not blame him at all for that fear.

Once Dawn drifted off to sleep with Spike, leaving Tara alone in the silent, ever waning darkness, her own fears began to close in again -- not the least of which was the impending sunrise.

*If only Buffy hadn’t taken his DeSoto,* she thought ruefully. *It was equipped for a vampire. We’re gonna have to stop before daylight, to either fix the car up and make it safe for Spike, or sleep somewhere for the morning. If only we hadn’t left so late…*

But “if only”’s weren’t going to help anything, she knew. All she could do was try her best to take each challenge, each decision, as it came.

She sighed as she looked into the rearview mirror at the sleeping teenager, and the invisible form she was leaning against.

It would at least have been nice to have had some input besides her own into the decision.

It was just after six, and she had been driving for nearly two hours, when she finally had no choice but to pull the car off the highway into the parking lot of a small, rather non-descript rest stop. There was a gas station, a little diner, and a suspicious looking little motel, which did not seem to be very highly frequented -- all in all, not the most stand-out place in the world.

*Perfect*.

Glancing uneasily at the rosy pink light just beginning to show on the horizon, she hurried out of the car in front of the motel and up to the front desk, making a last minute decision to use the last of her cash to pay for a single room, instead of using her credit card.

Willow still knew her passcodes, could still access her information and track their progress, if she wanted to do so.

And when Buffy finished putting her spin on the story of what had happened -- she would most likely want to do so.

“Come on,” she gently urged Dawn, shaking her shoulder lightly when she returned to the car. “Wake up, Sweetie, we’ve gotta get inside before the sun comes up -- come on, guys…”

Spike jerked awake with a gasp, his wide, confused eyes darting between them for a moment, as if he had forgotten the events of the night before as he had slept -- but after a moment, the panic faded from his eyes and he visibly attempted to calm himself, obediently taking Tara’s offered hand and allowing her to help him out of the car and lead him into the motel room.

Once they were inside, with the door locked and dead bolted and the curtains tightly drawn, Tara turned to face her friends. Dawn had crawled onto the double bed farthest from the door without pulling the blankets down, and was already asleep again -- clearly still accustomed to trusting in those around her to ensure her safety, a throwback to her days as The Key, no doubt.

Spike was sitting on the edge of the other bed, his back rigid, his eyes wide and fearful as they met Tara’s in an anxious, unspoken question -- one she wasn’t sure she could answer with words. So instead, she settled for a question of her own, her lips pursing slightly in a frown of concern.

“How’s your mouth, Spike? Feeling any better?”

“Sh-she’ll find us,” he whispered, ignoring the question, and answering it at the same time. The words came out slightly distorted, but intelligible, after a night’s rest and healing time for his abused mouth. “She’ll track me, Tara…” His hand rested over the covered mark on his leg, absently tracing the outline of the letter she had carved into his thigh.

Her initial.

Her mark.

He was still hers, in so many ways.

“I’ll block it,” Tara assured him softly. “It’s okay, Sweetie, she won’t wake up for hours yet, not until close to ten, and she probably won’t even know you’re gone until much later, when she gets off work. Besides, once you go to sleep, I’m gonna perform a kind of generic cloaking spell -- whatever magic she’s using, it won’t be able to get through. It’ll sort of -- deflect off the area around us, like a wall, and won’t let her see us here.”

Spike was quiet for a moment, taking that in, before his eyes lowered to the bedspread beside him, his teeth working his lower lip anxiously before he added with an almost apologetic tone, “She’ll find a way through it. Red -- she’ll…”

“Spike,” Tara gently cut off his fearful words, coming to stand in front of him and place a gentle finger to his lips. “Not today, she won’t…it’ll hold at least that long, I promise.”

He flinched at the soft touch of her fingertips against his mouth -- and then leaned into it, his eyes closed in a futile attempt to mask the raw hunger in his heart for any form of affection, of this gentle touch that did not seek to break him, to hurt him. For so long, he had experienced nothing but abuse and violation, and now he longed desperately to feel the tenderness that she was offering him.

Her fingers on his lips became a gentle caress of her palm along his jaw line, and her other arm went gently around his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. Her own heart ached with a mixture of sorrow and relief, as she felt him lean gratefully against her, his breath hitching with his attempts to hold back his sobs.

For the past two hours, she had wanted nothing more than she had wanted just to hold him, to comfort him, to reassure him, and herself, that he was safe, free, back with those who truly loved him and cared for him.

But -- for how long?

For this day -- she knew that much.

She felt his trembling, cautious hands at her waist, clutching her desperately to him as his head fell against her breast, and she felt the cool wetness of his tears seeping through the thin fabric of her blouse.

“Come on,” she said softly, her voice thick with her own tears. “While Dawnie’s asleep, let’s get you checked out, okay, Spike? Let’s go in the bathroom, and let me take care of…”

Her voice trailed off, as she felt his body tense beneath her gentle hands, felt a shudder go through him that was clearly linked to the very thought of taking off his clothes in front of her -- in front of anyone, after what he had been through. Her heart broke for him, even as a cold wave of dark fury washed through her for the monster that had reduced a monster to this.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, running her fingers through his hair as she shifted them slightly, sitting down beside him on the bed and pulling him in close to her as she did. “Come here, Sweetie -- it’s okay -- we don’t have to worry about that right now, all right? Let’s just get some rest, okay?”

She started to lie down on the mattress, drawing him gently down with her, but froze when she felt his body seize up even further, resistant to the attempt, and heard a soft, shuddering gasp from his trembling mouth. She cursed her own stupidity, sitting back up again and pulling far enough away from him to make him face her, tilting her head downward in an attempt to recapture his averted gaze.

“Spike -- hey,” she whispered, “look at me, Sweetheart…”

Hesitant, shaking violently now, he forced himself to meet her eyes, a mixture of instinctive terror, and shame for that terror, in his wide, breathtakingly expressive blue eyes.

“You know I’m not going to hurt you, Spike,” she whispered. “You know that. I just want to hold you -- to help you, Sweetie. That’s all, I promise.” She paused, still holding his gaze earnestly as she added in a soft, firm voice of gentle reassurance, “But if you’d rather I go over there and sleep with Dawnie, I can. Whatever you want. I just want to be here for you -- what *you* need. Okay?”

Spike hesitated a moment, his eyes still downcast, before nodding slightly.

Tara waited, uncertain still as to what it was that he wanted, before rising awkwardly from the bed. “Okay, then,” she conceded, thinking she understood. “I’m right in the next bed, if you need…”

His cool, trembling hand, still inhumanly strong, caught her wrist before she could move away too far, and she turned back toward him with an expression of surprise on her face.

He was looking up at her, a pleading, vulnerable expression in his eyes.

“Please,” he whispered, the words barely a breath as he lowered his head, his face turned away with shame and uncertainty. “Please, Tara -- could you just -- could you…?”

He couldn’t quite say it -- but he didn’t have to.

Moving with a quiet grace, Tara moved around the bed to the other side, drawing back the covers and lying down carefully several feet away from him, on her side facing him, one arm extended to take him in -- on his own terms, in his own timing.

Awkwardly, clearly fighting the fear that had become so much a part of him over the past few weeks, Spike swallowed back a fresh sob as he stood up from the bed, pulling back the blankets on his side as well, and climbing slowly under them. Tara’s heart nearly broke to watch him; gone was the casual confidence with which he had always moved, the suggestive flirtation that the Spike she had once known would have put into this little scene.

He did not even look at her as he lay down beside her, his body rigid and trembling, not quite touching her yet. His head bowed humbly, he edged hesitantly closer to her, reaching out shaking hands to rest at her waist, and allowing her to gently place her arms around him, nestling gratefully into her embrace as she did.

“It’s all right,” she whispered soothingly into his ear as she cradled him close to her, one hand smoothing gently through his hair, the comfortable warmth of her body gradually easing the pent-up tension of terror still so evident in his taut, trembling body. “It’s okay, Spike -- you’re safe. Nobody’s gonna hurt you here, Sweetheart. I won’t let her come near you. It’s okay, Spike…”

And with the gentle, lyrical rhythm of her promises echoing in his troubled mind, Spike drifted off into the first nightmare-less sleep he had had in weeks, allowing himself to accept the comfort she offered, though deep in his heart, he doubted she had the ability to keep the promises she made.

Deep down -- Tara doubted it too.

But she knew beyond any doubt that she would willingly die in the effort to keep those promises, before she would allow Buffy to get her hands on Spike again.

 

*********************************

A few short hours later, less than thirty minutes before she was expected for her shift at work, the Slayer awakened -- only after her alarm clock and been blaring its warning at her for over an hour. Cursing under her breath, she stumbled hurriedly out of bed and toward the shower, rushing through her morning routine as best she could -- which was actually pretty good, since she was beginning to make a science out of rushed preparations.

The whole time, she didn’t spare a single thought for her captive vampire suffering in the basement.

Once she was dressed in her Doublemeat Palace uniform, and had run a brush hurriedly through her damp hair, she grabbed her purse and headed down the stairs to the front door.

Only standing in the doorway did she remember the brutal punishment she had inflicted on Spike the night before, and the terrible, unspeakable agony he had to be in right now. She wondered briefly how far the holy water would have eaten into his vulnerable flesh by now.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, she shrugged as she rushed out the door, without even going into the kitchen. She had not put much of the holy water on the rag, anyway; and besides, it wouldn’t be enough to kill him. He was a vampire; he healed quickly.

And besides, she thought with a vindictive smirk -- he deserved it.

By the time she got home from her shift that afternoon, he would know better than to ever talk back to her again.


	31. Chapter 31

Tara waited until Spike had been asleep for a good solid thirty minutes before gently, carefully extracting her arms from around him, and slipping out of the bed to perform the cloaking spell to protect them from Buffy’s attempts to track Spike down.

Hopefully, she thought, biting her lip anxiously, there would be no such attempts -- not yet.

Once the ritual was complete and she was content that they would be reasonably safe, she had left the hotel room and gone across the street to the Wal-Mart there, to gather some necessary supplies. New clothes for Spike and Dawn, some food and drinks, among other things, and she was more than ready to return to the room and get some sleep of her own.

Tara climbed carefully back into bed behind Spike, wrapping her arms lightly around him and pulling him gently close to her. She heard him gasp softly in alarm, his body tensing at her touch, and she leaned in close behind him, her voice soft and calm and reassuring in his ear.

“Shhh…it’s okay, Spike. It’s just me -- just Tara. You’re okay…”

At the sound of her voice, Tara felt the tension slowly ease from his body, as he nestled back against her, now seeking rather than avoiding the warmth and comfort of her touch -- all without ever fully waking at all.

As for Tara, the tensions and fears of being responsible for the safety of not only Spike but Dawn as well, while not having a single inkling of an idea of what to do or where to go, were starting to overwhelm her, and she began to feel her own exhaustion creeping over her, lulling her to sleep. Some part of her, still wired and trembling and frantic, tried to resist sleep, insisting that she had to keep watch over the others, had to do her best to protect them.

*But you’ve got to sleep,* she reminded herself, as her mind began to drift away into the gray haze between sleep and wakefulness. *If you don’t sleep you won’t be able to drive later -- and you have to be alert and thinking clearly -- and the spell’s in place, no one can find us here…*

The argument of sleep proved to be much more persuasive than the argument of caution.

*********************************

 

It was a dream.

She knew it was a dream -- and yet the terror, the helplessness of it felt so horribly real.

Buffy was there, and she had Spike pinned to the floor -- naked, helpless, covered in his own blood and terrified. He could see Tara nearby, watching in horror, and cried out to her to help him, pleading with her with a broken desperation in his hoarse, sobbing voice.

But she could not move.

All she could do was stand there, held to her spot by some invisible, unnamed force, crying out with tears streaking her face as she begged Buffy to stop, to let him go, not to hurt him anymore. She felt like a coward and a fool and the worst kind of friend for doing nothing -- although some part of her knew that the whole thing was beyond her power.

*Just a dream…just a dream…not real…* she told herself desperately, even as her mouth screamed out much less rationally, panicked at what was taking place right before her eyes.

“Stop it! Buffy, stop it, please! *Please*, just let him go!”

Then, Buffy looked up at her from where she sat, eyes narrowed in cruel triumph -- as her face slowly shifted, changing before Tara’s eyes into the face of another, more familiar and terrifying to her than Buffy could ever be. It was the face of one who had victimized her over and over again throughout her childhood -- the face of her nightmares, as Buffy now was to Spike.

“Come on over here and stop me, if you can, baby girl,” the leering young man taunted her, smirking up at her with raised eyebrows as he continued to hold the struggling vampire down to the floor.

Spike did not seem to have noticed the change in his attacker.

“Do you hear me talking to you, Tara?” the young man demanded, rising up off of Spike and taking a menacing step toward her, his expression darkening with rising fury.

Tara’s feet were still frozen, though now her reaction was to flee, rather than to fight. She shook her head, feeling a sick sensation of panic rising up in her chest as the young man approached her, towering over her, much taller than he had ever been in reality.

“You’ll answer me when I talk to you, girl!” the young man snarled, drawing back his hand to backhand her across the face, and Tara braced herself for the blow, which would surely knock her to the ground…

*********************************

 

She awakened abruptly in the stillness of the darkened motel room, sitting up quickly, her breath coming hard and rapid as she stared wide-eyed around her, searching for any sign to tell her where she was, how she had come to be here -- and most importantly, that the things she had just seen had been nothing more than a dream.

And then -- she remembered.

It all came rushing back into her mind in a flood of memory, and she drew in several deep breaths, calming herself with an effort. As she remembered, she reached a hand out instinctively to the side, reaching for Spike to be sure he was all right. She frowned when her hand touched only the empty bedding, looking at the spot where Spike had been, and then glancing around the darkened room, the only light the slight rays filtering through the tiny crack in the curtains.

As her momentary disorientation faded, she became aware of the soft sound of water running in the next room -- and just barely audible past it, a sound that was yet unmistakable for its softness, and tore at her heart, bringing unbidden tears to her eyes at the very sound.

Someone was crying.

And Tara didn’t have to wonder for a moment who it was.

She rose from the bed, moving slowly, cautiously toward the bathroom, not wanting to startle or embarrass her friend -- just wanting to be sure that he was okay. She was surprised and relieved to see that the bathroom door was partially open; Spike obviously had not worried too much about privacy when he’d gone in, what with the girls both being asleep and all.

He had clearly not expected anyone to awaken to the sound of his tears.

She hesitated outside the door, drawn by the heart-rending desolation in Spike’s deep, heaving sobs, unable to simply leave him alone in his suffering, and yet afraid to intrude on his privacy, to violate him again where his confidence, his dignity, had already been so severely damaged.

She cautiously peeked through the narrow gap between the nearly-closed door and the wall, ready to look away just as quickly if necessary -- and saw nothing, only the clean white tiled floor, against the blue of the drawn shower curtain. The entire room was full of steam, filling the room with a thick, pale cloud, condensing and dripping down the curtain in fat droplets of hot moisture.

From beyond the opaque barrier of the curtain, she could hear the soft sobs of her friend, though she noticed that they sounded as if they were coming from -- well, *lower* than they should have been.

She walked silently into the bathroom, but then hesitated, unsure. She quickly decided that as there was no way she could simply walk in on him, the only way she would be able to reach out to him, to attempt to help him, would be to make her presence known. She opened her mouth to speak -- and then found that she couldn’t. Her nerve failed her, and she silently turned to go.

It was not too late…the sound of the shower and his own tears had surely muffled any sound she might have made, and as far as she could tell, she had made none.

“Tara…”

The faint, choked word froze her in her tracks, and she looked with startled eyes at the drawn curtain. “I -- I d-didn’t mean to…I mean…”

“You don’t have to go,” he interrupted her in a voice that was barely over a whisper, then added, softer, barely audible at all, “I’d rather you didn’t…please…”

Tara was quiet for a moment, considering, feeling awkward and uncertain, both utterly separated and distanced from him, by the shower curtain between them, and far too close, invasive and too personal, to have borne witness to such intense, heartbroken emotions, without his invitation. Finally, she sat slowly down on the closed toilet seat, and simply waited for him to speak.

He didn’t.

Perhaps, she considered, her heart lurching painfully within her breast -- perhaps there simply were no words.

“I’m here, Spike,” she whispered after a momentary silence, sensing that the simple affirmation was what he needed. “I’m right here…”

Another moment of silence passed, before he replied in a voice that was hoarse with tears, “Thank you.”

The sincerity in the simple words brought tears to her eyes, and she replied in a soft, tender voice, aching with her need to do something for him, “Spike…are you…are you okay? I mean…is there anything I can…can do, for you?”

She did not hear the shuddering sob that shook him next, only the deep intake of breath that followed it, as he laughed a harsh, bitter laugh and replied, “No, love…not sure I’ll ever be okay again, truth be told…”

*You will,* Tara wanted to tell him -- but then, she wasn’t quite sure that *she* was okay, even now, years after…and what she’d been through was surely nowhere near as horrible as what Spike had been through…was it?

When she said nothing, Spike spoke again, and his next soft, frighteningly calm words stunned her.

“Do you want to see?”

“W-what?” Tara stammered, her eyes wide with shock and dismay.

“What she did to me.” He waited a moment, before correcting the sentence in a tone of disgusted self-hatred, “What I *let* her do to me. Do you want to see it? What I’ve become?”

“Spike,” Tara shook her head sorrowfully, tears streaming from her eyes at the stark pain in his voice, “Spike, you don’t have to…”

She dropped the gentle protest when the curtain was suddenly drawn back, just a little less than halfway, by a trembling arm near the bottom of the curtain -- a trembling arm that immediately returned to wrap with the other around his drawn up knees.

“Why not?” he rasped out flatly. “’S not like I’ve anything left to hide, is it? Made me nothing but her whore, she did…so why should I care to show what I am to the world?”

He was sitting on the floor of the tub, the water still running from the shower head, hot and steaming, though it was directed slightly away from the outside of the shower now. As she watched, he bowed his head wearily, shaking with silent sobs that seemed to have taken over his body, coming now of their own volition, against his will.

The very sight of the devastation that had been wrought on his body took Tara’s breath with horror, and a sort of visceral heart-pain that brought her own sobs forth.

There was not an inch of his body that was not marred with some livid mark -- bruises, burns, places where his skin had been viciously sliced with a sharp blade, all for the mere amusement of the woman who had believed herself his mistress. His face was the only part of him that had been spared permanent damage, and even it was bruised at the moment. He was too thin, his muscles clearly weakened by the weeks of malnutrition and lack of use.

And at the moment, his skin was pink with the heat of the water pounding down -- which, Tara suddenly realized with alarm, must have felt much hotter to him than to her -- and scrubbed nearly raw in places, evidently with the courtesy bath sponge that had been on the side of the tub. That sponge was now clutched in his pale, trembling hand, clenched into a fist as he looked up at her through lost, anguished eyes, shaking his head in despair.

“Can’t get…can’t get clean, Tara,” he whispered by way of explanation, tearing her heart open with the stark agony in his hoarse, almost pleading whisper. “Can’t…can’t wash her off of me…I can still…still feel her…heard her voice in my dreams…can still…still smell her…all over me…”

Tara stared at him for a long moment, swallowing back the sob that rose in her throat, as she resolutely blinked back the tears that blinded her, mercifully obscuring the heartbreaking sight from her vision.

Because she *had* to see it.

Because if she didn’t -- who was there, to help him bear the unbearable, the weight of shame and torment that she understood so much better than she wanted to?

Regaining control of her own emotions, Tara rose to her feet, not reacting as he flinched back, a flash of instinctive fear in his wide blue eyes, now staring up at her, watching her movements warily.

She didn’t let it hurt her; she knew it was not her he was afraid of.

Silently, she pulled back the curtain the rest of the way, and reached down to turn off the steaming hot water. Next, she reached to firmly take the sponge from his hand, her jaw setting with determination when he tried to hold onto it.

“Spike,” she said, softly but firmly, holding his shell-shocked gaze, “you don’t need this. You’re clean already, Sweetie. You’re gonna burn yourself, staying in here like this. You’ve already hurt yourself.”

She glanced down pointedly at the various spots on his pale flesh where he had rubbed hard enough to draw his own blood, in his desperate attempts to wash away a feeling that was far deeper than the surface of his flesh. His gaze followed hers, and then glanced at her guiltily before falling to the shower floor.

“Spike -- look at me,” she instructed gently, crouching in front of him and reaching out a hand to tilt his face back up toward hers. When he obeyed, she insisted in a voice of quiet conviction, “You are not dirty, Spike. You are more than what she did to you, and you have *nothing* to be ashamed of.”

He looked away, his chin wobbling dangerously even as he struggled to hold back his tears, and she graciously averted her gaze, standing up and taking his hands in hers to help him to his feet.

“Come on,” she said softly, soothingly. “Let’s get you out of here, Sweetie…”

Compliant, emotionally drained, Spike allowed himself to be led from the shower, allowed her to gently towel dry his battered body, taking care not to aggravate the worst of his injuries, which had all at least begun to heal up already. Tara gently inspected his burned mouth, which was still tender and swollen inside, but now at least allowed him to speak normally.

“Sit here for a second,” she told him gently, wrapping the soft white towel around his waist as she helped him to sit down on the closed toilet, and walked out of the bathroom.

She returned a moment later with a new t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

She was surprised and dismayed when his face crumpled at the sight of them, his eyes welling with tears and his shoulders shaking with sobs. She moved forward quickly, putting her hands gently on his shoulders as she tried to catch his gaze.

“What is it, Spike?” she whispered, one hand rising to caress his face gently. “What’s wrong?”

He just shook his head, not answering for a moment, closing his eyes, before he looked up at her, a sort of worshipful wonder in his subdued gaze. His voice was soft, awed, when he asked her slowly, “Why…w-why are you doing this for me, Tara? H-how can you be so…so bloody kind…when I…I…”

Tara frowned, concerned by the train of thought he seemed to be on. “When you what?” she prompted cautiously. “Why wouldn’t I…?”

“Because I bloody well brought it on myself, that’s why!” he suddenly exploded, tears streaking his face as his shoulders shook with sobs, and his self-accusing eyes rose to meet hers. “I went back! I went back after my bloody stupid soddin’ *coat*, and she -- she was w-waiting for me…and…and it was my fault, Tara! I -- I’m so -- so bloody stupid, Tara, and if I hadn’t been such a stupid -- stupid *ponce* and just left it -- I’d have been long gone, and you and the Bit wouldn’t be here, you’d be safe, and it’d all be different, and…”

Her gentle finger on his lips stilled his trembling, rambling attack on himself, and he looked back up at her, clearly expecting the anger he felt -- but that was not what he got.

Her eyes were full of compassion, as she gently ran a hand through his hair, shaking her head in quiet denial of his words. “Spike,” she assured him softly. “Spike, Sweetie -- it’s not your fault. You told me already -- she can track you with that mark -- you’re safer if you’re not alone, Sweetie…”

“But -- but *you’re* not,” he pointed out in a bare whisper, his eyes downcast.

Tara’s eyes slowly widened, as understanding -- and finally, anger -- dawned on her, and she reached down a firm hand to lift his chin back up, forcing him to face her. Her eyes were blazing, and he tried to look away, but she would not allow it, studying his trapped, guilty expression.

“You didn’t expect to get away -- did you?” she asked him.

He did not reply, his eyes rolling to the side as he struggled to escape the piercing knowledge in her eyes.

“You thought she’d catch you, anyway, didn’t you? So why did you even leave? *Were* you even going to leave?” she demanded, shaking her head in confusion, and just a hint of betrayal at his secrecy.

“I -- I didn’t want you to get hurt,” Spike whispered miserably, as she removed her hand and allowed him to drop his gaze. “Tara, I’m sorry, I…”

“You listen to me, Spike, and you listen good!” Tara’s voice suddenly took on an air of command, as she crouched down in front of him, looking up at him to meet his gaze, her soft gray eyes fierce and intent as she declared softly but unyieldingly, “I am *not* going to let you face this alone! That’s not how this works. You’re *not* alone anymore, Spike, I am your *friend*, and I will not allow you to just -- just give yourself up, because you think it’ll be easier on *me*!”

“I’m sorry,” Spike whispered desperately again, tears streaming from his eyes.

“Don’t be,” she gently cut him off, one hand resting comfortingly at the back of his head. “You are not the one who needs to be sorry, Spike. You haven’t done anything wrong. Just know that this is not only your problem. You’re my friend -- I *love* you, Spike -- and that makes it my problem, too. So don’t try to shut me out of it, to protect me, because I *promise* you I will find a way back in!”

As she spoke, Spike’s expression had softened with awe and gratitude, his eyes tearful as he met hers again over just the barest hint of a smile. “I -- I think I’m beginning to see that,” he whispered, his mind going back to the moment in the basement, in which he had realized that she had come for him, and had felt his heart swell with relief, even in spite of his terror.

Tara blinked in surprise -- and then laughed softly, with him. “Good. You better, Mister,” she said with mock warning in her voice.

The humor faded from her eyes, shifting back to concern and warm affection, as she leaned forward and wrapped her arms gently around him, just holding him close to her for a few moments as he raised trembling arms to gratefully hold her to him, his head buried in her shoulder as the last of his tears spilled themselves into the soft fabric of her blouse.

After a few moments, she helped him to dress, and they walked back to the bed together, climbing in and lying snuggled comfortably together, holding each other and taking comfort in the warmth, the closeness of their ever-deepening friendship. They had a few hours left in which to sleep -- and Tara finally felt as if she could, without the terror of her nightmares, brought back by Spike’s recent ordeal.

She marveled again silently at the similarity in his experiences, and her own -- and then smiled softly to herself, in spite of the pain of the situation, at the merciful irony of it.

Suddenly, she was sure that whatever they had to face -- whatever burdens they had to bear -- would be easier with the weight divided between two.

It occurred to her, in the soft moments before sleep, that perhaps Spike was not the only one who had just been rescued.


	32. Chapter 32

Tara awakened before the others, several hours later.

Glancing at her watch on the bedside table, she noted with some alarm that it was already two o’clock in the afternoon -- and remembered uneasily that they really had no guarantee that Buffy was not looking for them already. Yes, according to Dawn, it was highly unlikely that Buffy would have noticed that Spike was missing, in her usual late morning rush.

But it was not impossible.

“Spike,” she whispered, her voice slightly hoarse with sleep as she nudged the exhausted vampire, regretting that she had to wake him before he awakened on his own. “Spike -- we have to go…get up, Sweetie…”

He stirred, letting out a low moan in his sleep as he turned to face her, sleepy blue eyes blinking up at her fearfully for a moment…before he remembered where he was, and with whom, and the fear faded away, at least into the background of his thoughts.

“What time is it?” he asked, his own voice slightly raspy, as much from the countless tears he had shed the night before as from sleep. “Time to go?”

“Yeah,” Tara replied, getting up and crossing the room to wake Dawn. “It’s like, two…but we can’t wait any longer. Buffy could be looking for us already…”

“She’s not.”

The soft certainty in Spike’s voice stopped Tara where she was, and she looked up at him with a question in her eyes. The look in his eyes was calm, but still haunted by a fear that Tara knew would be a long time in leaving him, no matter how far they managed to stay ahead of Buffy.

*Buffy could die tomorrow,* she thought bitterly, *and Spike would still be dealing with the aftermath of the horrible things she’s done to him. Hmmm…Buffy could die…*

Alarmed at the dark turn her own thoughts were taking, Tara shook her head slightly as she refocused on Spike’s words and asked softly, “How can you know?”

Spike’s gaze was suddenly averted, but his hand fell unconsciously to rest over the covered mark on his leg as he answered in a voice barely over a whisper, “If she knew I was gone -- I’d know.”

Tara felt her blood run cold at the simple resignation she heard in his voice -- and the new knowledge of a threat she had not even considered to this point. She had known there was a good chance that Buffy would be able to find them using the mark she had placed on Spike -- but was it possible that she could use that same mark to *hurt* him as well, even from so far away?

She almost didn’t dare ask.

Except -- she *had* to ask.

“Spike…can she…can she hurt you? Even -- from Sunnydale?”

Spike did not answer for a long moment, just swallowed hard and kept his eyes averted self-consciously -- and it was all the answer Tara needed.

“Okay,” Tara stated firmly, continuing on her way to Dawn’s side to wake her as she spoke to Spike. “First order of business -- besides getting as much distance between us and her as possible -- is finding a way to get rid of that thing.”

Spike’s silence, and the dubious expression on his face, told her that he really did not think that was possible -- and maybe it was not. But Tara knew that Spike would never truly be free of Buffy’s control, as long as he wore her mark -- and she was determined not to give up until she found a way.

Tara gently shook the teenager’s shoulder, quietly speaking her name -- and soon realized that that was not going to do the trick. She shook her harder, nearly yelling her name the second time.

When there was still no evidence that her actions had had any effect at all, Spike moved to the side of the bed, and abruptly grasped the covers and yanked them completely off the bed, shouting, “Wake up call, Bit! You have five seconds to decide if you’re gonna go take your shower in the bathroom, or if I’m gonna give it to you right here!”

Finally, a sleepy, grumpy, barely responsive Dawn mumbled something about annoying vampires, and towels, as she stumbled to her feet and trudged zombie-like toward the tiny motel room bathroom.

Tara looked up at Spike in amused surprise, and he shrugged with a sort of shy half-smile, the sort of look that reminded Tara just how little positive interaction he had had with anyone lately.

“Spent the whole summer getting her off to school,” he explained quietly. “Had to get creative sometimes.”

A gentle smile came over Tara’s face as she moved cautiously toward him, pleased to hear the sound of the shower turning on in the bathroom, letting them know that Dawn was getting ready. As she neared him, however, her smile faded at the nervous demeanor that still came with her physical closeness to him.

“How are you doing?” she asked softly, reaching out a hand to brush through his disheveled hair, expecting his flinch, and not reacting to it. “This morning? Better?”

He nodded, though he wouldn’t quite look at her, and Tara felt only mild disappointment, accepting the fact that it was quite possible that they would go through this over and over for a while -- this building of fragile trust that faded away in the midst of his nightmares, only to be rebuilt the next day by constant, patient reassurance.

She had been where he was, to a certain degree, and she understood many of the emotions he was struggling with -- fear, confusion, shame, guilt, and others, others that had no names, and could not be described even by those who had felt them, or understood by those who had not.

But thankfully -- Tara *had* felt them. And she was willing to go through this with Spike every morning, for the rest of her life if she had to, until it finally took.

“Right,” she said in a softly sarcastic tone, still running her fingertips lightly through his hair in that repetitive gesture of affection. “You’re fine. I can see that.”

He glanced up at her sharply, before rolling his eyes at himself and sighing wearily.

“Sorry, love…I c-can’t…can’t help it…”

“I know,” she said simply, cutting off his nervous attempt at explanation, as she took his hand and led him to sit down beside her on the bed Dawn had slept in the night before. “And it’s okay. No one could help it, after all you’ve been through, Spike. Not necessarily every day -- but a little at a time -- it’ll get easier, and easier…”

As she spoke, she continued her gentle, non-threatening caresses through his hair, until she felt his head lean slightly into the touch, her other hand still gently, firmly clasping his.

“…until one day…” she went on in a soothingly rhythmic tone of voice, “…you’ll finally understand…that not everyone who touches you…wants to hurt you…”

He looked up at her, that look of awe in his glistening blue eyes, as he shook his head slightly in wonder and whispered, “H-how do you…? I mean -- you just…”

“What?” she pressed him gently, without ceasing her gentle ministrations, leaning back against the headboard and pulling him gently back with her. “I just what, Spike?”

He leaned his head against her shoulder, apparently finding it easier to say what he wanted to say if he wasn’t looking at her, and once her face was outside his line of vision, Tara allowed her concerned frown to crease her brow. There were so many little evidences of his brokenness, so many details that spoke of how thoroughly devastated he was, and would likely be for a long time.

That stutter -- so uncharacteristic of the Spike she knew -- was one of them.

She recognized that stutter -- because it had once been her own, sometimes still was.

“H-how do you -- do you know just what to say?” he finished his question, his voice hushed and almost reverent. “How do you seem to know j-just what I’m feeling, and just w-when I need to hear…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head slightly -- but Tara had heard enough to know what he was asking.

And enough to know that she was not quite ready to give him the answer.

So she didn’t.

They just sat there in silence, and Spike seemed to accept it, with the physical comfort she offered. He knew what it was to have secrets that never would see the light of day, and he knew better than to press her to share hers; though secretly, Tara was sure that the time would come when she would open her own hurts up to Spike -- but that time was not now.

Not now, when he was only just beginning to come to terms with his own.

When they heard the water turn off in the bathroom, Spike sat up a bit awkwardly, clearly not wanting Dawn to walk out and see his vulnerability and need for comfort on such open display. Tara noticed with an odd little warmth in her heart, however, that he kept his hand in hers as Dawn walked out of the bathroom in the same clothes she had worn the day before.

“This is so incredibly gross,” she grumbled, opening her mouth to continue.

Before she could, Tara said simply, “Look in the Wal-mart bag on the table.”

Dawn squealed with excitement when she saw the clothes Tara had picked out, before looking at the older girl with wide, uncertain eyes and asking, “Is it totally inappropriate to get all excited over new clothes when we’re hunted fugitives?”

Tara couldn’t help but grin as she shook her head and reassured her, “It’s never inappropriate to get excited about new clothes.”

Once Dawn had emerged from the bathroom the second time, fully clothed in her new clothes, she took a seat in the chair beside the bed where Spike and Tara were seated, and the three of them began to discuss their options.

Which, admittedly, were not all that great.

“So basically,” Dawn summed up glumly, after a few moments of discussion, “we have to get away from Buffy, keep her from finding us, find a way to get rid of that mark so she *can’t* find us, and also deal with the whole Spike-can’t-travel-in-the-daytime issue…and Buffy could already be on her way here.”

“Could be,” Tara pointed out hopefully, “but might not be…”

“She isn’t,” Spike insisted quietly. “I’m telling you, she doesn’t know I’m gone yet.”

“And it’s nearly three,” Dawn observed, her eyes lighting up hopefully. “Which means that she went off to work today without noticing anything wrong. Which means, she’ll be there until like, six or seven.”

“Right around sunset,” Tara sighed. “Which means we really can’t waste time, we need to get on the road…”

“Maybe she’s working over tonight,” Dawn suggested hopefully, looking between her friends. “She does that a lot. I mean, it‘s actually more likely than not that she *is* working late -- we just can‘t know for sure.”

“Sure we can.” Tara’s eyes narrowed slightly, as an idea occurred to her. “Why don’t you call her and ask her?” she suggested, a slightly wicked smile on her lips.

**********************************

 

“Buffy -- phone!”

The Slayer frowned as she made her way across the humid kitchen of the Doublemeat Palace to the telephone, grimacing as she picked up the greasy receiver as gingerly as she could, and held it to her ear.

“Hello?”

She knew she sounded curt and impatient.

She really didn’t care.

“Hey, Buffy…”

Her irritation increased at the sound of her little sister’s voice.

“Hey, Dawnie,” she replied quickly, forcing herself to sound halfway pleasant. “What’s up, I’m really busy.”

It was an outright lie. They hadn’t had a customer in twenty minutes.

“Okay, sorry…I just wanted to ask you something…”

Dawn sounded a bit nervous, probably due to her sharp tone of voice, but Buffy did not feel too bad about it. After all, Dawn was the one bothering her at work; if the girl got a bit of a case of hurt feelings, maybe it would teach the spoiled brat a lesson in manners.

“What is it?” she demanded impatiently.

“Can I spend the night at Janice’s tonight? I mean…I was just thinking, if you’re working late again, it’s gonna be just me at the house, and…”

“I don’t like Janice. I don’t want you over there,” Buffy cut her off. “No, I want you to stay home.”

“Oh, so you’re gonna be out all night working, but you don’t care if I’m all by myself?” Dawn shot back, anger in her voice. “That’s not even safe! Why can’t I go? You *are* working a double, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am, but that’s beside the point, and it’s not like Janice could protect you anyway,” Buffy snapped, her thin patience on the verge of disappearing completely. “You are staying home. That’s final. And if you don’t, trust me, I *will* find out about it, and you will *never* go anywhere again until you’re thirty. Good night, Dawn.”

And without waiting for a response, she hung up the phone, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

But as soon as she hung up the phone, she began to wonder if perhaps she had made a mistake. Dawn, alone in the house and bored for several hours, was not necessarily a good thing -- especially with her personal vampire slave chained up in the basement. Oh, she had picked a good strong padlock, but she wouldn’t put it past Dawn to at least *try* to get past it and see what her sister was hiding down there.

As for Spike, she knew that he knew better than to make a sound, or to deliberately attempt to draw Dawn’s attention in any way -- but a lot of good that would do her, if Dawn just happened on him by herself.

Her mind made up, she went back to the phone, preparing herself to do her apologetic big sister voice, and tell Dawn how she had changed her mind, and she could go, and she was sorry for being so harsh with her.

When no one answered the phone, she frowned as she hung the receiver up, shaking her head in annoyance and frustration.

“Stupid kid,” she muttered. “I’m gonna have to teach her a lesson one of these days…thinks she can do whatever she wants, no matter what I say…she’s probably on her way over there already…”

But by the time she reached the counter again to serve the customer who had just walked in, she was already feeling better. Dawn’s rebellious streak, in this instance, only served her own purposes, anyway. It would keep Dawn from discovering Spike while she was at work, that much was for sure.

A fleeting thought crossed her mind of the suffering vampire, still chained and gagged with the holy water dampened rag she had shoved into his mouth, and she wondered a bit uneasily just how much damage would have been done by it by the time she got home.

*Doesn’t matter,* she decided coldly. *He’ll heal, anyway. It might take him a while -- but that’ll just teach him that I mean business, and I don’t think he’ll *ever* talk back to me again!*

She smirked at that thought, shrugging it off as a suggestive smile rose to her lips.

*Besides -- it’s not like I can’t do without his mouth for a few weeks, anyway. There are plenty of other ways he can be used to -- amuse me.*

And with that rather pleasant thought, Buffy put Spike out of her mind for the next twelve hours -- unwittingly giving the little band of fugitives plenty of time in which to make good their escape.


	33. Chapter 33

“Okay -- so she won’t get off work until like, two o’clock in the morning. We’ve got lots of time!” Dawn announced as she hung up the phone with a huge, triumphant smile on her face, beaming with the exhilaration of the ruse she had just pulled off.

“It only seems like it,” Tara reminded her grimly. “It’s not that long, really. Twelve hours won’t actually get us that far…”

“And before we go anywhere, you two need to eat,” Spike spoke as firmly as Tara had heard him speak in a long time. “You haven’t all day.”

Tara nodded. “We do -- and we need to figure out what to do about the car so we can travel in the daylight -- and where exactly we’re headed from here…and like, a million other things…” She sighed wearily, feeling overwhelmed again.

“First, you need to eat,” Spike insisted quietly.

“Well, so do you!” Tara challenged him with raised eyebrows, persisting when he looked away. “You do. Me and Dawnie -- we’ll eat lots of protein and drink lots of orange juice -- and then, when we get back, *you* are going to drink something, Spike. Before we go anywhere.”

Spike did not say anything, but his jaw was working with conflict, and she could see the silent protest in his averted eyes. The past few weeks had conditioned him to mostly keep his contradictions and objections to himself, and go along with the wishes of those around him, but Tara could see that he was still very strongly against the idea of his feeding from either of the girls.

Honestly, Tara wasn’t thrilled with the idea either -- but it wasn’t as if they had a choice.

And she trusted that Spike would never hurt either of them.

He *couldn’t*, really, since he couldn’t even bite them without his head exploding into a violent migraine. Dawn had had the right idea with the little pocketknife that Spike had taken from her in the car -- though now that Tara thought about it, another trip to Wal-Mart for something a bit sharper (and therefore less painful) might be in order.

“There’s a little diner across the street,” Dawn suggested, a note of anxiety in her young voice as she noticed the slight tension between the vampire and the witch. “We could -- go get something there…”

“Yeah,” Tara nodded, “let’s…” She stopped, frowning, as she glanced uncertainly at Spike. “Except it’s daylight -- and that place is all windows. We can’t all go over there now…”

“We can’t wait much later,” Spike shook his head, his eyes focused downward, his voice trembling slightly as he added, “have to get going before -- before long…”

“Well -- me and Tara could just -- just go over there really quick, and come back…” Dawn began, clearly a bit uncomfortable with the suggestion.

“*No*!” Both Tara and Spike immediately objected, with enough force to make the younger girl jump self-consciously, looking between them, wide-eyed in surprise at their mutual reaction.

A quiet, awkward moment followed, broken by Spike’s strangely soft voice, as he explained in a anxious, hesitant tone touched with shame, “I -- I’d really rather you -- you didn’t…I mean…I don’t want to…to be…”

Tara’s heart broke for him again, because it was so very obvious how humiliating it was for him to admit his fear of being alone; and yet that fear was so consuming that he was willing to admit it, if only to prevent its coming to pass.

“I’ll stay,” Dawn offered softly, leaning slightly toward Spike and reaching out a small, tentative hand to slip into his. “We’ll stay here -- and you can bring some food back -- and we’ll eat here. Okay?” As if suddenly self-conscious over her own words, which could have been taken as a bit too commanding, Dawn shrugged and added, “Or -- the other way around. Whatever.”

“No, good…good,” Tara assured her, nodding in agreement to her idea. “That’ll work. I don’t want you going off anywhere by yourself, Dawn. I’ll just go and get some food for us, and then we’ll all eat here. Then, we’ll figure out something to do about the car, and get going.”

Spike nodded distractedly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, still not looking at either girl.

Tara decided not to mention it at the moment, perceptively discerning that his mood was mostly due to his embarrassment at needing the presence of the younger girl -- of anyone, for that matter -- to make him feel more secure. The last thing she wanted was to further shame him by drawing attention to it.

After finding out what Dawn wanted to eat, she headed for the door.

“Tara,” Spike spoke up just before she walked out into the light, and she turned to face him with a question in her eyes. He swallowed hard, holding her gaze for a long moment before adding in a whisper, “Please hurry.”

Her expression softened with compassion as she nodded and promised gently, “I will.”

As the door closed quietly behind her, a moment of slightly awkward silence fell over the vampire and the former Key, still hand in hand, as she sat down slowly beside him on the bed, giving him a dubious sideways look. He looked up at her from the side, a slight grimace of apology on his face as he cleared his throat.

“Not that -- not that you don’t make me feel -- a bloody hell of a lot better, Bit…”

“Uh-huh,” Dawn cut him off in a good-naturedly doubtful voice, rolling her eyes before meeting his in a knowing look. “Because I’m every bit as reassuring against my psycho sister as a full grown, majorly powerful witch.”

“No, that’s not…”

“It’s almost three. I think there’s a rerun of Dawson’s Creek on in five,” she suggested, diplomatically interrupting his half-hearted protest as she scooted back across the bed to lean against the headboard, reaching for the remote.

“Well,” he shrugged carelessly, looking away to hide the faint light of interest in his eyes. “ ‘S better than nothing, I s’pose.”

**********************************

Tara walked up to the counter and gave the tired-looking waitress behind it her order, before sitting down on a stool to wait for it to be ready -- but her mind was a million miles away from the tiny little diner where she sat.

*How in the world am I gonna do this?* she wondered, anguished with worry. *I’ve got to keep both Dawn and Spike safe from a psychotic Slayer who could pound me into the floor with her pinky -- when she’s got that mystical mark on Spike, and my uber-witch ex-girlfriend to help her find us…and I’ve also gotta find some way of traveling safely in the daytime for a vampire…oh, and somewhere along the way, it might be nice to have some idea of where we’re actually going!*

She glanced out the window into the parking lot, not really seeing the few random cars parked outside, or the lovely sunny afternoon that ordinarily would have put her into such a cheerful mood. She vaguely noticed as a dark colored van which looked to be several years old pulled into the parking lot and parked in front of the diner.

*Now something like that is what we need,* she observed morosely as a couple of young men got out of the car, laughing and talking casually, and headed into the diner. *Something big and dark like that with a roomy backseat where Spike can avoid the sun…something that’s nothing like my car, something Willow can’t have the cops out looking for once Buffy tells her whatever story she makes up about how Spike kidnapped me and Dawn, or whatever…*

As the two young men made their way to the counter and gave the waitress their order, Tara politely looked away, still brooding over finding solutions to the countless obstacles in the way of their escape. Their conversation, sounding quite loud in the nearly empty room, still made its way into the edges of her mind.

“Man, I wish your van wasn’t such a freakin’ piece of junk! I‘m almost embarrassed to be seen in the thing!”

“If we had something newer, we could probably make better time…”

“If we had something that wasn’t a standard,” the first boy corrected, his tone one of good-natured mockery, “so you couldn’t kill it every time we slow down, *then* we’d make better time…”

“Hey! I don’t kill it that often!” his friend objected, sounding offended.

Tara sat there for a moment in thoughtful silence, before the beginnings of an idea occurred to her. Her eyes widened slightly, as she wondered wildly if she might just be able to pull it off. She glanced discreetly at her reflection in the large mirror behind the counter, reassuring herself that she looked reasonably nice, all things considered; she subtly shifted her blouse so that her neckline was just a bit lower, and brushed a hand quickly through her loose long hair, which she thankfully had washed and brushed while Dawn had been getting dressed.

It had been a long time since she’d attempted to flirt with a boy -- and she was going to need every point in her favor she could get if the insane plan taking shape in her mind was going to work.

**********************************

 

Dawn and Spike had been waiting in mostly comfortable silence for the past half hour, watching Dawson’s Creek and just sitting together on the bed.

Dawn was still holding Spike’s hand -- and he felt no compulsion to stop her.

“I’m sorry I’m just a kid.”

Dawn’s voice spoke into the stillness, and Spike looked at her in surprise. His voice sounded a bit hoarse when he replied, a bit bewildered, “What’s that, Bit?”

Dawn shrugged as she clarified matter-of-factly, meeting his eyes with honesty, “I’m just sorry I’m not, you know -- bigger -- or a powerful witch like Tara and Willow…” Her expression darkened as she looked away slightly and added with resentment in her voice, “…or a Slayer, so I could totally kick Buffy’s butt…” She shrugged again as she looked back up at him. “I’m just sorry that I can’t protect you -- that I don’t make you feel safer.”

Understanding her meaning did not make Spike feel any better, as he looked down at the mattress between them with a heavy sigh. After a moment he stated softly, “Shouldn’t need protecting, Bit. It’s enough that you’re here at all -- more than enough.”

Dawn thought for a moment before pointing out, “We all need protecting sometimes. Some of us -- like, you know, mystical Keys, for example -- more often than others.”

That earned a half-hearted smile, as her friend looked up at her warmly for a moment, squeezing her hand affectionately.

Dawn smiled back, though her eyes remained serious. “There’s always -- someone bigger, you know? I mean -- you can’t be stronger, and faster, and smarter, than everything and everyone. It’s okay if sometimes -- if you’re the one who needs help, you know?”

Spike did not look up, his mouth working with emotion, as he took in what she was saying gratefully, though he was not quite willing to accept it completely just yet. It meant a lot just for her to say it -- though he hated the fact of how weak and needy and -- and *broken* he had become.

“You don’t know how many times -- how many times you protected *me*, Spike. How many times you made me feel safer, when things were -- were really scary,” Dawn went on, her voice sounding small and vulnerable in the quiet of the room. “I mean -- if you hadn’t been there, Spike -- I’d be dead right now. From -- from Glory…or…or that time when I tried to -- to bring Mom back…” She looked up at Spike, her wide blue eyes round and earnest as she told him simply, “…you’re the person who makes me feel safe, Spike.”

The vampire who had once been part of the Scourge of Europe, who had been a master vampire, feared and renowned for his thirst and skill for violence, now felt a choked, tearful feeling of warmth welling up in his chest, as he turned damp eyes toward the young girl who had come to mean so much to him.

Before he could say a word -- not that he had a clue what to say -- the door to the room opened, and Tara walked back into the room, carrying a big paper bag, and grinning widely with excitement.

“Hey,” Dawn remarked, smiling as she blinked back her own tears. “Their food’s that good?”

“Don’t know yet,” Tara shrugged, her smile not fading. “Let’s eat, quick, and get on the road…”

Spike frowned curiously, raising a hand self-consciously to swipe at the tears that filled his eyes, before asking slowly, “What’s got you in such a hurry all of a sudden, love?” After a momentary pause, he added, his eyes narrowing slightly over a slight smile, “And what’s got you in such a glad mood as well?”

“Take a look out the window,” she suggested with a mysterious wink as she set the bag of food down on the table beside the bed.

Dawn jumped up off the bed, curiosity speeding her step to the window, where she drew the curtain back slightly and frowned out into the golden afternoon sunlight. “I don’t see anything,” she stated, her frown deepening slightly as she added, “except…*not* your car…Tara…where’s your car?”


	34. Chapter 34

“Where’d you get that soddin’ thing?” Spike asked, eyes wide as he peered carefully through the window into the parking lot.

Tara couldn’t help but smile. This was as interested as she had seen him in anything since they had left, and it was good to see. “I saw it pull into the parking lot at the diner, and figured it’d be better for us than my car. You can avoid the sun in the back, and they won’t know to look for us in it. So I just – sort of -- turned on the charm, talked the guys who owned it into trading with me.” She shrugged a bit awkwardly as she explained, feeling suddenly a bit shy talking about it.

“*You*?” Spike sounded almost incredulous, his eyes dancing with barely restrained amusement. “You managed to flirt us into that van?”

Tara felt her smile fading slightly at his mildly disbelieving tone of voice, and she knew that her voice was just a bit defensive, but she couldn’t help it as she reminded him, “Hey – just ‘cause I date girls doesn’t mean I don’t still have my feminine wiles.”

Something about the statement itself made Tara feel just a bit uncomfortable, as if she wasn’t quite sure of what she was saying. She wondered why Spike’s reaction of surprise had bothered her, anyway. She *did* date girls, after all – so why should it matter if Spike didn’t find her attractive?

She had acknowledged to herself a long time ago that the blond vampire had come to mean a lot to her – enough that she was willing to disrupt, even *risk*, her entire life to help him now – but he was just her friend, and nothing more.

So why did the indication that he thought of her in exactly the same way bother her so much?

“No,” Spike objected, his eyes wide as he realized how she had taken his words. “I didn’t mean – it’s just – you’re not the type – no, that’s not…”

“What, are you blind?” Dawn cut off his rambling attempts at repairing his comment, her tone light and gently teasing. “ Tara is *sooo* a major hottie! No wonder the guys gave her their van…”

“Well, it might have had something to do with my brand new car,” Tara pointed out.

“Whatever,” Dawn dismissed her modesty, raising her eyebrows a couple of times in a playfully suggestive way, “Go Tara – work that thang!”

Tara blushed, suddenly feeling very self-conscious, and turned her full attention to Spike, her expression suddenly becoming serious as she abruptly changed the subject. “You need to eat, Spike, so we can get going.”

“ Tara ,” Spike objected, his amusement vanishing immediately, “There is no way that I’m going to eat *you*, love…” His eyes widened at the unintended innuendo of his words, and he looked down quickly, seeming a bit flustered. “I mean – I don’t want to – to hurt you, Tara – or the Bit. I just don’t want to do it. And – and I don’t care what you do or say to try to make me – I *won’t* do it. And that’s that.”

His voice was both firm and uncertain at the same time, further evidence to Tara of how very unaccustomed he had become to asserting himself in any way – but she was glad to see him so forceful again, even for a few moments, almost as he had been before Buffy’s abuse had broken him.

It was a shame that she wasn’t going to be able to let him win this one.

“Spike,” she stated in a firm but gentle voice, “we’re not going anywhere until you eat. Now, all it’ll take is just a little. Maybe a pint? I personally donate blood all the time, and this isn’t any different from that. The only difference is I *know* you, and care about you. I *want* to do this for you, Spike.”

“Me, too,” Dawn put in, nodding firmly in agreement to Tara ’s words, standing at her side to prevent a united front to the reluctant vampire.

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes downcast, and Tara noticed with dismay that they were welling with fresh tears. “ Tara ,” he whispered thickly after a moment, “please…please don’t make me do this…”

Those words were both her triumph and her defeat.

She knew in that moment, that if she pushed him, she *could* make him do what she wanted him to do, and drink from her.

She also knew that she could not bring herself to force him to – not in the face of his desperate, submissively voiced plea.

“You can’t just go hungry, Spike. And we don’t have time to go searching for a butcher right now,” she explained, her own voice taking on a soft tone, as she came close to begging him to do what she knew he needed to, if his remaining injuries were going to heal – if he was going to survive at all. “Please – I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do – but we might not have any other option.”

Another moment of silence passed, as she waited with bated breath for his response.

Finally he spoke, his eyes focused downward and his voice quiet, hesitant.

“There – there may be another option. I h-have an idea…”

Twenty minutes later, Spike had explained his reasoning to Tara – and she had to admit that it seemed to make sense, seemed to have the potential to solve more than one of their many problems. She agreed to it, and she and Dawn quickly ate the food she had brought for them.

Spike had a little bit of Dawn’s sandwich, and a drink of her soda – but no blood.

When they were finished eating, it was nearly four o’clock, and past time to get on their way.

Using the bedspread from one of the beds, Spike made a mad dash to the side door of the van, climbing inside and sitting against the far wall in the wide open space behind the actual seats. Dawn climbed in the middle seat between where he was, and the driver’s seat where Tara would be, wanting to be able to talk with both of them along the way, and

Tara closed the door behind them, taking the only-slightly-singed bedspread back into the motel room before locking up and heading out to the van.

It was 4:10pm when she pulled the old van onto the highway, in the direction pointed out to her by a road sign reading “ Los Angeles – 200 miles.”

With any luck, they would reach help several hours before Buffy left the Doublemeat Palace in Sunnydale.

 

***********************************

“Uh-huh…uh-huh…yeah, I know…just get some rest, okay? You’ll feel better, I promise…” Cordelia Chase was a master of saccharine-sweet insincerity – and she was putting everything she had into her words as she nodded slowly and patiently into the office from the safety of the doorway. “Uh-huh…*night*…”

She closed the door to Angel’s office a bit more forcefully than was necessary, letting out a low growling sound that barely sounded human, as she rolled her eyes and sat down hard with a dramatic sigh on the circular sofa in the lobby of the Hyperion.

“Honestly, he can be *so* stupid and annoying!”

“Tell me something I *don’t* know,” the chocolate-skinned man sitting beside her remarked with a wry grin. “So, uh – what’s the matter with Sir Broodsalot, anyway? Besides your typical vampire blood lust and moodiness?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” she shrugged, feigning indifference, though just how much she really cared was obvious from the angry glint in her dark eyes. “He won’t say a word to me! He just says he doesn’t feel well, doesn’t wanna be around people…but vampires don’t *get* sick – and he won’t be any more specific – so honestly, I don’t know how he expects me to help him!”

“It would, ah – seem to me that he doesn’t,” Wesley put in from his place at what had once been the hotel registration desk, suppressing a slight smirk of amusement as he adjusted his glasses, and focused his attention back on the book in front of him to avoid the would-be starlet’s withering glare.

Before Cordelia could voice the scathing retort to his words she was obviously formulating, Wesley went on in a mild, vaguely soothing tone, “Perhaps he simply has to work it out in his own mind first, and then he’ll feel more open to the idea of -- sharing…”

Cordelia’s expression almost did not change at all, the only slight shift a slight raise of a single brow, as she just kept staring dubiously at the former Watcher.

“Right,” he concluded with a slight smirk and a sigh. “Highly unlikely.”

*************************************

Inside his office, Angel could clearly here their discussion of his behavior -- but it hardly registered in his troubled mind -- more troubled than usual tonight.

Well -- not tonight, actually. More like for the past couple of weeks.

It had been roughly two weeks earlier when he had become aware of the subconscious call of family -- that subtle, nagging feeling that someone in his line, someone he was responsible for, was suffering and in need of his help. It was highly unlikely, from what he knew of his remaining family, that the call was even a conscious, deliberate one -- but he knew that someone in his line needed him.

Problem was, he suspected he knew who that someone was -- and he had no intentions of extending himself to help him.

Darla, the once love of his unlife, was gone, forever this time. As for Dru -- she had taken off on her own a long time ago, and he was sure he would have known if it was her, due to the close bond they had always shared, no matter how much distance separated them.

That left Spike.

The last time he had seen Spike, he had hired a pedophilic freak of a vampire to torture him while he stood by watching and enjoying the show. And if that alone was not enough to keep him from wanting to help the blond vampire -- the thought of his friends’ reactions to the idea sort of sealed the deal.

Cordelia had been around to see the aftermath of Spike’s little Angel-torture session, and she would likely loudly voice her opinion on the matter, making sure that the others opposed the idea as well before she was finished. His friends were loyal to him, he knew, and the fact that Spike had tortured him would certainly make them suspicious and hostile toward the younger vampire from the start.

Of course -- none of them had any idea of the years of torture Spike had likely been attempting to repay with that single afternoon of suffering he had inflicted on Angel.

No -- Angel was not going to feel like “sharing” anytime soon.

*What does it matter what they would think?* Angel asked himself irritably, standing up from his seat and pacing the floor of his office restlessly. *It’s not as if you’re actually going to *do* anything about whatever mess Spike’s gotten himself into this time! You don’t have time, anyway! You have enough to deal with here -- the boy’s just gonna have to figure it out for himself this time…*

*What if he can’t?*

The quieter, worried thought echoed in the stillness of the office, and Angel’s pensive frown deepened, a soft growl of frustration rising in his throat. The silence now coming through the office door told him that his friends had finally given up for the night and gone to their respective rooms.

He glanced at the clock, surprised to realize that it was already after midnight, as that softer voice insistently continued to hound him.

*What if whatever it is this time is too big for him? What if it kills him?*

“Then good riddance,” Angel muttered aloud, becoming increasingly agitated. “He’s still evil. He’d be killing right now still if he didn’t have that chip thing Buffy told me about!”

*But he *does* have it,* that same worried voice insisted. *And he can’t hurt anyone…and he’s been helping Buffy…*

“Yeah,” he muttered, shaking his head, his eyes flashing golden, though he was not aware of it, “because he wants to get into her pants! Little pervert! It’d serve him right if someone finally dusts him this time! Get him away from Buffy, and out of my hair for good! He’s not my problem!”

*Yes. He is.*

The simple thought stopped Angel in his tracks, and he lowered his head with a deep breath of defeat. He shook his head, resistant to the idea of going to Spike’s aid, but aware that he was likely not going to get any rest, any semblance of peace, until he did something about this feeling, this torturous *awareness* that constantly filled him, that his childe was in danger.

“I’ll call Buffy,” he decided aloud, raising his head and squaring his shoulders, feeling better already with the decision. “First thing in the morning -- I’ll call her and find out what’s going on in Sunnydale. If something’s going on with Spike, she’ll know about…”

His voice trailed off suddenly, his eyes widening with shock, as a powerful realization struck him, and he turned instinctively toward the office door, his game face coming forward automatically in the beginnings of a natural challenge that was centuries old at this point.

After the sensation hit him, he heard the front doors to the hotel creaking slowly open -- but he already knew who was entering the hotel.

He would not have to go to his childe, after all -- because his childe had come to him.


	35. Chapter 35

When the sun went down, Spike moved to the front passenger seat to sit beside Tara, so the two of them could keep each other company as the all-too-short hours passed by. Dawn was drifting in and out of a light sleep, lulled by the constant motion of the van, which was actually running surprisingly well.

 

Spike offered to drive for a little while, but Tara turned him down. He had been very quiet for most of the ride, and she could see the faint tremor that continually passed through him now. She knew that he was terribly nervous at the moment -- not that she could blame him -- and she thought it would be safer for her to do the driving, no matter how tired she was getting.

 

And as they neared L.A., Spike’s anxiety only grew more obvious.

 

He hardly said a word for the last hour of the drive, responding to Tara’s attempts at casual, cheerful conversation only when he had to, his eyes wide and focused out the window into the darkness. As they passed the sign that read, “Now Entering the City of Los Angeles”, Tara glanced at him with concern, noting the convulsive swallow and little wince he gave, as he realized how very near they were to their destination.

 

Instinctively she reached out to place her hand on his trembling ones, clasped together on his lap. She was surprised -- and touched -- when he gratefully grasped her hand, like a lifeline, clinging to it though he did not turn and look at her.

 

“Spike,” she asked him softly, hesitantly, “are you -- are you sure this is what you want to do? I mean -- you don’t seem to want -- you just seem a little…”

 

“Scared out of my bloody mind?” he suggested when she did not seem able to find the words.

 

Tara smiled ruefully, with an apologetic little sideways nod. “Yeah,” she admitted, her eyes becoming serious as she glanced away from the road to gauge his expression as she spoke. “I mean -- if you don’t want to go to Angel…”

 

“I *don’t* want to go to Angel,” he confessed flatly, his eyes still staring out the window, his voice trembling slightly. “I just -- I don’t have much choice right now. And I know -- I know he’ll help.”

 

Tara was quiet for a moment, considering. Based on all she had heard of Angel and his past relationship with Spike, she found that doubtful. “Are you sure?” she asked finally.

 

“Yeah.” There was no hesitation on Spike’s part. “He might not want to. He might be a soddin’ wanker about it. In fact,” he swallowed hard, glancing at her apprehensively as he went on, “he -- he might feel the need to get in a couple of blows of his own, love, after -- what happened the last time I saw him -- you may see -- well, some things you might not like -- but in the end -- he’ll help.”

 

“How do you know he will?” she asked, frowning at the thought of Angel trying to hurt Spike, determining that she would not allow that to happen, no matter how normal or natural Spike seemed to think such behavior might be.

 

Spike was quiet for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his words had a sort of simple, profound certainty.

 

“Because we’re family.”

 

**********************************

 

Angel stalked out of his office, throwing the door open so hard that it slammed into the wall with a loud bang that made all three of his unexpected visitors jump. Though he had expected, even *wanted*, to give Spike a fright, he felt just a bit bad about evoking the same reaction in the two girls with the younger vampire.

 

In fact, he really had not expected them to be there at all. He had expected Spike to be alone.

 

It didn’t matter.

 

He struggled to keep a rein on his demon, as a low growl began to resonate in his throat, and he took a couple of slow, measured steps toward the smaller vampire. He knew that there were flecks of gold in his eyes, though he managed with an effort not to change to his game face.

 

“Spike,” he snarled, his voice low and menacing. “What, did you decide it was a good night to die?”

 

Angel felt an unwelcome pang of emotion, as his childe’s wide, vulnerable blue eyes fell, and he shrugged slightly, a self-deprecating, painful smile on his trembling lips as he whispered, “Doesn’t sound like such a bad plan, actually…”

 

The soft, flat sound of Spike’s voice nearly made Angel wince, and he noticed for the first time the terrible condition his childe was in. Spike’s face was bruised and his lip was split, and he was painfully thin. There was a faint scent of blood surrounding him, as that of a wound that had not yet healed, and beneath it, Angel could not mistake the terror and desperation rolling off the younger vampire in waves.

 

It was fairly safe to say it was not all because of his intimidating presence.

 

Otherwise, Spike would not have been there at all.

 

“Spike!” Tara objected, sounding aghast at his comment, and Angel frowned, surprised at the concern he heard in the human girl’s voice.

 

Who was she, anyway?

 

“Why are you here, Spike?” Angel demanded, moving closer to Spike, who to his credit did not back down, though Angel knew him too well to miss the flash of fear in his eyes at his advance. “You’d better answer me, boy, and I’d better like the answer…”

 

“I – I need help,” Spike replied, his voice shaking slightly, barely over a whisper, his eyes still downcast, and he flinched for the first time as Angel closed the distance between them, pushing him back against the wall beside the door. “P-please…please help me…”

 

Angel had known that his childe needed help of some kind. Hadn’t he been resisting the call to go to his aid? But he had never expected that the younger vampire would actually become desperate enough to come to him. Just the sight of Spike brought back the memories of the torture he had experienced at the hands of Spike’s hired expert, and he could feel an automatic anger rising up in him at the thought.

 

Still, the broken, humbled sound of Spike’s voice, the tears that welled in his eyes and choked his stammering words, tore at Angel’s heart in a way he did not want to admit to feeling at all.

 

But he could not help but feel it.

 

“Why should I help you, Spike?” he demanded, biting off the words, his eyes narrowed in disgust. “Why should I do anything for you, after all you’ve done?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Spike automatically responded, his eyes downcast, his posture and tone submissive. “I’m sorry, Angel – I just – I’ve not been doing evil for – for some time now – and – and I don’t have anywhere else to go...”

 

“You tortured me, Spike. No, scratch that. You *hired* someone to torture me, and sat there watching, enjoying the show…”

 

“Yeah,” Spike replied, the faintest ghost of his old smirk rising to his trembling lips as he added, “Guess you were always more of a hands on sort of bloke, yeah?”

 

Angel nearly flinched at the words, painfully accurate in their subdued accusation. A snarl that he knew was mostly defensive rose up in his throat, and he slammed the younger vampire back against the wall forcefully, demanding, “Watch your mouth, boy, if you want anything from *me*! I’ll send you running back the way you came, if you don’t…”

 

“I’m sorry,” Spike whispered, his eyes closed, swallowing hard. Angel was struck by the flat tone of resignation to his voice, as if he knew that he had an argument, had the right to *demand* Angel’s help – but he knew that doing so would gain him nothing, so he was willing to humble himself if it was what Angel required. He was that desperate. “I’m sorry…please…please help me…Sire…”

 

It was the “sire” that did it.

 

Angel felt his resolve crumbling under the force of that word, spoken with such desperate hope, from his childe’s lips – and he opened his mouth to relent, his hands already beginning to ease on the lapels of Spike’s duster…

 

…when suddenly he heard a soft female voice at their side speak a single word of Latin, and he was flung violently across the room, against the far wall, by some unseen force that left him on the floor, gasping for the breath the blow had knocked out of him.

 

When he managed to stagger to his feet, aching from the impact, he looked up in shock to see the young blond woman standing in front of Spike, her arms crossed over her chest as she faced Angel with a defiant look in her blazing grey eyes.

 

“Don’t touch him again,” she ordered simply, her voice calm and even, though her intent gaze told Angel that despite her mild tone, she meant business.

 

As Angel’s incredulous eyes took in the young woman – clearly a witch – the younger girl moved slowly and deliberately to stand beside her, looking just as determined to protect Spike, despite the fact that she had not exhibited any special power of her own just yet.

 

Angel’s eyes widened with recognition, and as he tried to steady himself, he asked in confusion, “Hey – aren’t you Buffy’s sister?”

 

Dawn’s jaw set in a contemptuous expression as she replied grudgingly, “Unfortunately yes.”

 

“Dawn – what are you doing here? And with him? Does Buffy know you’re here? And…” His eyes focused on Tara, and he shook his head slowly. “Who are you?”

 

“Tara,” the older girl replied simply. “I’m – I was – I’m Willow’s ex-girlfriend?”

 

“Oh,” Angel nodded, relieved to find some semblance of an explanation – then frowned, as he added, “Willow’s dating girls now?”

 

“Willow doesn’t matter right now,” Tara stated firmly, her bold gaze not leaving Angel’s. “What matters right now is that Spike needs your help. Now if you don’t want to help him, that’s fine, we’ll be on our way, but you are *not* going to be pushing him around, because he has had all of that he can take – all of it he’s *going* to take, ever again. Is that clear?”

 

Angel stared at her, taking in her words and her strong tone, silent for a few moments, before he finally asked, “What’s going on? What about Buffy? Does she know about – this? Whatever ‘this’ is?”

 

Tara glanced at her watch before looking back up at him grimly and replying, “Not yet. Soon, though. Which is why you need to listen to us quickly.”

 

************************************

 

“I don’t believe it.”

 

Spike felt his heart sink at the words from his sire’s mouth – words he had expected, anyway, but had hoped to be able to avoid. He said nothing, not having the emotional strength left to argue his case – especially considering that there was a great part of him that was still convinced that it was all his fault, anyway, and he did not deserve help getting out of it.

 

“It’s the truth, Angel,” Dawn insisted, her young voice trembling and desperate. “You have to believe us! She’s my sister, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t…”

 

“Buffy wouldn’t do anything like that!” Angel insisted, shaking his head. “Tara, look – I don’t know you – I’m sure you’re a great person and all that, sure you wouldn’t hurt anyone on purpose – but this is all some huge mistake. He’s made it up…she wouldn’t…”

 

*Please! Buffy, don’t…*

 

*Shut. Up. You just keep your stupid mouth shut, do you hear me, Spike?*

 

Spike flinched at the sound of the Slayer’s recorded voice, looking up at Tara with startled eyes. He had been so focused on Angel and his reactions to what they were telling him, that he had not seen her take the tape recorder out at all. Now, he wanted to look up at his sire, wanted to gauge his response to what he was hearing – but he found that he could not lift his eyes from the floor, for the powerful shame that overwhelmed him at the voices, the memories, echoing out of the handheld tape recorder.

 

*No, no, please don’t do this!* his own anguished voice cried out on the tape, tearful and terrified. *Don’t, Buffy, please! No…*no*!*

 

He was there again.

 

He was in that dark room, bound and blindfolded, unable to scream, unable to see, unable to escape…*ever*…he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, as his body was overwhelmed with convulsive shudders of repressed terror…

 

“Spike…” He heard Tara’s voice whisper beside him, and he flinched when he felt someone touch him, only to gratefully surrender as he recognized the feel of her soft, warm arms wrapping around him. “…Sweetie, it’s okay…we don’t need to hear anymore…”

 

*Buffy, you wouldn’t hurt her…you wouldn’t hurt Dawn…*

 

*Hurt her? I’ll kill her, Spike! You’ll do what I say – or I’ll kill her!*

 

Spike flinched at the memory of what had followed his submission to that threat, his hand unconsciously rising to cover his nearly healed mouth, as he leaned instinctively closer into Tara’s embrace, clinging to her desperately as he shook his head in panicked denial of what he was hearing.

 

“It’s okay,” she continued to reassure him gently, “we don’t have to hear anymore, Sweetheart…” The tone of Tara’s voice told Spike that she was no longer talking to him, as she looked up without taking her arms from around him, and added in a slightly harder, unyielding tone, “Do we?”


	36. Chapter 36

Not waiting for Angel’s approval, Tara had reached over and turned off the tape recorder already, and the older vampire’s trembling, angry voice sounded very loud in the stillness that followed. Spike was still cradled in the arms of Tara, who was seated beside him, his body bent forward until his head was nearly in her lap, as his body was shaken by sobs too deep for sound.

“I want to talk to Spike alone.”

A moment of startled quiet followed his announcement, both girls staring up at him in suspicious disbelief.

“Um -- *that’s* so not gonna happen,” Dawn finally declared, her voice calm, but her eyes flashing with protective fury as she glared at the dark vampire. “He’s been through enough! Do you actually think we would let you…?”

“I’ll do it.”

Spike’s voice was hoarse with his tears, barely audible over Dawn’s protest; and both Tara and Dawn turned their wide, incredulous eyes on him instead. Angel nodded once, solemnly, his dark eyes focused on his childe, studying his expression -- still apparently searching for any sign of deceit.

“Spike…Spike, are you sure?” Tara asked him, one gentle hand turning his face toward her, searching his eyes herself. “You don’t have to…not if you don’t want to, Sweetheart. If Angel doesn’t want to help us -- we can just move on…”

“I didn’t say I don’t want to help,” Angel snapped, a bit impatiently, his eyes never leaving Spike’s tear-stained face. “I just said I would like to talk to Spike alone.”

“Why, so you can hurt him again?” Dawn demanded, standing up on trembling legs, glaring at him defiantly. “We saw how you treated him when we walked through that door! Do you really think we’re going to let you get away with hurting him again?”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Angel ground out the words through clenched teeth, obviously barely restraining his own anger. “I just want to talk to him before I decide anything.”

“And what if you *decide* that instead of helping you just wanna take Buffy’s side?” Tara pointed out the possibility, an expression of wary uncertainty on her face. “What if you change your mind once you get Spike alone, and…”

“I said I’ll do it!” Spike broke in, his voice suddenly loud as he cut his friend off, though it was still trembling dangerously, as he looked around the room at the three who were arguing so vigorously over his fate. As they all fell silent, waiting, Spike swallowed hard, drawing in a deep breath, before he went on. “I may have spent the last few weeks -- without much of a choice about anything -- but this is still *my* decision, in’nit?”

Tara was the first to find her voice following his outburst, as she nodded slowly and cautiously agreed, “Of course it is, Spike. We just -- wanna be sure that you’re safe…”

“Well, I’m *not* bloody safe, am I?” he reminded her, his voice coming out a bit harsher than he intended, as he raised his eyes to hers again, the raw truth visible there in his terror and uncertainty. “And I won’t be safe -- not until we can get some help in -- in stopping her. So -- I’ll talk to him.” He was silent for a moment, his voice lowering as he added softly, “Anything he can do to me -- can’t be worse than what she’s done, love. I’ll let him kill me before I’ll let her *touch*…”

His words broke off abruptly, as he fought back a sharp sob that had risen in his throat, shaking his head when Tara moved forward to hold him and holding out a hand to stop her. He needed her friendship, craved the comfort she offered -- but he knew that if he submitted to it now, he would fall apart again.

And right now -- he had to be strong.

Angel rose from his chair, meeting the younger vampire’s eyes as he nodded toward his office, and then turned to lead the way. Spike rose awkwardly from his seat, avoiding Tara’s and Dawn’s looks of concern as he followed after him, knowing that they were not the least bit pleased with his decision.

But it *was* his decision -- the first decision he had been allowed to make in what felt like a lifetime -- and despite the disapproval of his friends, despite their better judgment, he was going through with it.

And, no matter what Angel would or would not say or do to him -- that alone felt strangely good.

Scary -- but good.

He quietly closed the door to Angel’s office behind him, hesitating, taking a deep breath, before turning to face his sire. Even then, he found that his eyes seemed glued to the floor; he could not bring himself to meet Angel’s eyes, not now -- not knowing what the older vampire now knew about what had happened to him.

Or rather, should have known.

“That was real,” Angel stated the words, but there was a question behind them. “Not -- faked, somehow…”

“It was real.” Spike’s voice came out barely above a whisper, his eyes still fastened on the floor at his sire’s feet.

“That was *her*.”

That statement was more sure, yet stained with shock. Angel knew Buffy’s voice better than any other, and if the tape itself was real, then he knew beyond all doubt that it was her on it.

Spike just nodded, unable to speak by this point for the hard knot of sick shame that seemed to have lodged itself in his throat.

Angel was quiet for a long moment, before he spoke in a voice that was almost too calm, as he slowly moved to sit down in the chair behind his desk.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning, Spike -- and tell me how this happened?”

Spike stood there awkwardly, not wanting to sit down, yet feeling oddly on display standing -- like a misbehaving schoolboy, enduring the scrutiny of his instructor while he nervously awaited his punishment.

“She -- she hasn’t been the same. Not since they brought her back.”

Angel said nothing, his dark eyes still studying Spike’s face with a forced reserve, as he waited for him to go on.

“She -- she didn’t want to talk to them. She just -- just wanted to talk to me. Guess she thought -- thought I c-could understand what it was she was going through -- better than they could, yeah?”

Angel nodded almost grudgingly, clearly unhappy with the idea of his idolized Slayer feeling that his soulless childe was the one she could best relate to. “Sort of makes sense,” he conceded quietly.

“Yeah,” Spike agreed with a nod. “Started out all right. We were almost -- almost friends, you know? Until -- until we -- well, there was this spell -- and we kissed -- though I don’t really think it was because of the spell, because the spell was already broken when it happened, and it didn’t seem like it was magic making us do it, it felt real, yeah? And even though she tried to say…”

“Spike…”

“Next thing I know we were shaggin’, all right?” Spike blurted out the words, his gaze still averted, his expression miserable, half-expecting his sire to leap across the desk and strike him down right then and there. “It just sort of -- happened. We were -- fighting -- and she just sort of -- well, she *literally* bloody jumped me!”

“And you just felt so violated, right, Spike?” Angel practically spat the words out, his seething anger and jealousy obvious behind the sarcasm in his voice. “You hated every minute! That’s really why you’re so broken up about this whole thing, isn’t it? Because you didn’t want it -- you didn’t *dream* of it *every single minute* until it happened, did you? You were totally unconsenting, it might as well have been rape, right?”

Spike was silent, fighting back the fresh tears of shame that welled up in his eyes, humiliated under the scathing accusations of his sire.

Angel’s eyes widened at Spike’s reaction to his words, though the truth still did not quite sink in for him.

Perhaps he simply didn’t want it to.

“She raped you -- is that what you’re saying, Spike? You didn’t want anything to do with her -- it was rape!”

“It wasn’t,” Spike finally spoke up, his voice full of quiet anguish as he reluctantly added in a bare whisper, “not -- not that night…”

Angel felt his heart drop in his chest, and time seemed to stop, as the impact of what Spike was saying sank in for him. He swallowed hard, but his throat suddenly felt like sandpaper, as he shook his head slowly in unconscious denial of what he was gradually coming to see.

“Spike -- she wouldn’t -- you wouldn’t let her…?”

Spike broke down completely at those poorly chosen words, sobbing out bitterly, “I *did* let her! I was a stupid, pathetic ponce who let her do whatever the bleedin’ hell she wanted to me! Are you happy now?”

Angel was silent, stricken by the anguish, the desperate self-loathing in Spike’s voice.

“It wasn’t like it started off like that,” Spike explained, his arms crossed over his chest tightly in a pitifully defensive gesture, his head bowed as he went on in a trembling voice, “started off a lot milder -- not so bad -- Slayer’d always been one to knock me around a bit when she was upset -- take out her frustrations on the neutered vamp -- so why should I expect that to change just ‘cause she was shaggin’ me senseless every bloody chance she got?”

“Then -- then she wanted to play games -- and I’d never been one to complain where that sort of thing’s concerned,” Spike’s face took on a disgusted smirk, as he glanced up at Angel and added, “least not for a long time, anyway,” and despite the timing of his look, Angel was quite certain that Spike’s disgust was not directed at him.

“Except -- she got -- different. She -- she wanted things -- I didn’t want. And if I didn’t give in quick enough for her liking -- she’s just -- just *take* them…” Spike’s voice was a haunted whisper now, echoing in the stillness of the room. “She’d -- she liked to -- liked to -- tie me up -- and -- and do the things I -- I begged her not to do -- the things I told her I -- I hated -- were the things she liked the most…”

Angel was convinced by now -- and the truth was swiftly becoming more than he could stand. He desperately wanted to stop Spike, to tell him he’d heard enough, to tell him to shut up -- but he knew that he had no right to do so, and couldn’t quite bring himself to, no matter how badly he wanted to.

If Spike needed to say these things, he had no right to stop him.

“I -- I tried to leave. She -- she took my car keys. She told me -- if I left -- she’d find me. Kill me. Or -- or worse. And there *was* worse…” That ghastly, chilling smile was back on his face, so out of place, so obscene in the face of what he was talking about, but Angel could see the not so distant horror in his eyes, knew that he was dealing with his torment of memories the best way he knew how.

And they were still killing him.

“Tara -- she found out. She tried to help me -- even gave me her car to leave town. But -- but she caught me. That’s when -- that’s when she took me -- to -- to her -- her basement…” Spike’s breath began to quicken, his words coming out with a terrible struggle, as his tears flowed freely down his trembling face. “…kept me there…did…did horrible things…I…I can’t…I mean…”

His very brokenness called out to Angel across the sire/childe bond that they shared, and he suddenly longed to rise from his chair and cross the room, to take his boy in his arms as he so rarely had over the past century and a half -- in a gesture of comfort rather than of possession.

But Angel knew that he was guilty of offenses against Spike, every bit as bad as those Buffy had committed -- and his own shame held him back from offering what he knew his childe needed.

Even as Angel wrestled with what he knew he had to do, Spike’s emotions seemed to overwhelm him, and his legs no longer seemed able to support him, as he collapsed to his knees on the floor, shaking and sobbing brokenly.

“I should have left,” he choked out the words through his tears, despair and self-hatred clear in his voice. “Before it ever got -- like this -- I should have left -- shouldn’t have let her -- but -- but I wasn’t strong enough -- I -- I needed her -- too much -- no matter what she did to me, I needed her -- so much! I h-hated her for what she did -- but I loved her for who she was -- and I -- I’d let her do anything -- if it could get her to -- to l-love me…”

Angel felt something within his own heart shatter at those words, answer to both the questions swirling around in his mind.

*Why did he let her do it?*

*Why did he let *me* do it?*

Later, he didn’t remember moving -- didn’t know how he had gotten there. All he knew was that one moment, he was behind his desk, shaking with the effort to keep from running to Spike and taking him in his arms, cradling him as a father with his son.

And the next moment -- he already had.

Spike clung to him with a sort of grateful desperation, his body wracked with the pain of his memories and the shame of his need, sobbing against his sire’s chest, as Angel held him close to him, rocking him slightly, whispering gentle shushing sounds of comfort to him.

“Help me,” Spike whispered, his shaking hands clutching at Angel’s shirt. “Please, Sire -- please help me…”

“Shhh,” Angel soothed him, cradling his head against his chest, his own tears falling to wet both his shirt and Spike’s disheveled blond curls. “Shh…I will, childe…I will…”


	37. Chapter 37

It was a catharsis that Spike had not yet experienced, pouring out the story of all that had happened to him to his sire, held in the arms of the nearest thing he had ever known to a father. Spike felt a sense of calm and peace as Angel whispered gentle, soothing words to him -- and a sense of safety and protection, as he growled low in his throat unconsciously behind those words, offering a wordless promise of retribution to the one who had so devastated his child.

Spike knew that Tara and Dawn loved him, and he cherished the warmth and tenderness that both girls had lavished upon him since they had rescued him from Buffy’s basement. Still, there were things that he could not quite bring himself to tell them, things that were too horrible for him to inflict them upon their sensitive hearts.

One day, he thought that he might reach a place where he could tell Tara more of what had happened to him. Dawn, however, could never know, he had already determined. He could never crush the precious girl with the nightmare images of just what her sister was capable of doing.

With Angel, however -- the words had simply come pouring out, as if something deep within him had simply been waiting, building, desperate to come out, yet only able to within the protective safety of his sire’s presence.

Once Spike’s tears seemed to have passed for the moment, Angel pulled away from him slightly, a troubled frown on his face as he looked his boy over as best he could from their kneeling positions on the floor. It bothered him to see that Spike still would not look up at him, clearly ashamed by the things he had told him -- but he understood.

“Let me see you,” he ordered firmly, well aware that his childe would not want to obey, but needing to see the extent of the physical damage that had been done, as well as the emotional. “Come on -- get up. I need to see how bad you‘re hurt.”

As he spoke, he rose to his feet, gripping Spike’s arm and pulling him up with him. When Spike did not move, but did not say a word of protest, Angel reached down to grasp the hem of his t-shirt and pull it off over his head.

Then, Spike protested.

“No,” he objected, shaking his head and pulling the shirt back down with trembling hands, before crossing his arms defensively over his torso, his head turned away. “No, I -- I don’t want to…”

“Spike,” Angel gently cut off his objections, placing his hands firmly but gently on his childe’s arms. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You know that, right?”

Spike nodded, his jaw clenched with emotion as he fought against the shame of his own post-traumatic reactions.

“Okay -- I just want to see how bad it is. Okay?” Angel’s voice was soft, coaxing, without the faintest trace of suggestion of anything else, and Spike finally lowered his arms, yielding to his sire‘s wishes.

Still, he flinched when Angel this time succeeded in removing his brand new black t-shirt, his head lowered in shame as the older vampire gave an involuntary gasp of shock and dismay.

The shower he had taken the night before had eased the horror of the sight somewhat, removing the dried crust of blood that had covered him until only recently; but even the time he had had since his rescue had done very little to help his injuries heal, with no blood to speed along the process.

His chest, his stomach, were covered in bruises in various degrees, indicating many beatings over a long period of time. Interspersed among them were other wounds, *open* wounds, cuts and burns and evidence of horrific tortures that had been inflicted upon the vampire, apparently, just for the pleasure of the sadistic, psychotic Slayer.

“Spike,” Angel whispered, shaking his head, at a loss for any other words. Then, he added in a softer voice, barely a breath, aching with sorrow and compassion, “Oh, my William …my boy…”

Spike flinched, his shoulders shaking slightly, Angel cleared his throat, straightening his own shoulders and attempting to regain control of his emotions. He knew how easy it could be to break down when faced with the sympathy and softness of others, especially after going a terribly long time without it -- and he knew that the last thing his childe’s damaged pride needed right now was another breakdown.

“What about -- what about the rest?” Angel asked, wincing even as he said it, both because he did not want to embarrass Spike, and also because he was afraid to know.

“Worse,” Spike answered simply, in a humiliated whisper.

“Miserable sadistic bitch,” Angel muttered under his breath, and Spike heard that soft growl beneath the words again. Then, Angel raised his voice to declare, “She’s not going to get away with this, Spike. I’m going to make her pay for this, I swear it. We’re gonna get you strong again, and then we’re gonna go to Sunnydale and…”

“You won’t need to go to Sunnydale.”

Angel frowned. “Why not?” As he spoke the words, he was suddenly afraid that he already knew the answer.

“Because -- in an hour or so -- she’ll be heading here…” The quiet, restrained terror in Spike’s voice was heartbreaking.

Angel was quiet for a moment, before correcting gently, “She’ll be looking for you. She won’t be heading here, Spike. The last place she’d ever guess…”

“She won’t have to guess.”

Angel’s puzzled frown deepened with concern, as he asked quietly, a note of dread to his voice, “Spike -- what are you talking about?”

The younger vampire was quiet for a long moment, his head bowed, before he finally admitted in a voice choked with tears of shame and fear, “She -- she marked me…Sire. She -- she made me -- hers…”

The warning snarl that suddenly left Angel’s mouth was no surprise to Spike, but he flinched backward anyway, as his sire moved toward him with a sort of predatory grace, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

“Not. Possible,” he stated in a voice that was both soft and hard at the same time -- and utterly certain, and there was no doubt as to his meaning.

Spike swallowed hard, shaking his head as he whispered, “I didn’t want her to do it, Sire…I would have stopped her -- if I could -- but -- but…”

“What did she do?” Angel demanded, and Spike knew that the fury in his voice was not directed at him.

Spike closed his eyes for a moment, wrestling with some inner conflict, before he finally reached down and unfastened his jeans, revealing the mark carved into his thigh to Angel’s widened, startled gaze.

“What…?” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, confused.

“She used -- a spell,” Spike explained. “She -- she said it was kind of like -- the magic version of a vampire’s claim. It -- it hurts me -- when she makes it. And -- and she can find me with it.”

Alarm registered in Angel’s gaze as he finally realized what Spike was getting at. “Does she already know you’re gone?”

Spike’s voice was quiet as he replied in a tone of carefully measured calm, “I’m wagering no. Not yet. Judging by my current lack of searing, agonizing pain.” He was silent for a moment before adding, “She’s at work. For another hour. Then -- she’ll find out as soon as she gets home.”

Angel blinked, taking that in, before swiftly moving toward the door.

“What -- what are you doing?” Spike asked him, uncertainty in his vulnerable blue eyes, as he hastily pulled his jeans back up and fastened them.

“We’re gonna find a way to break that spell, before she can use it against you.”

“In an hour?” Spike dubiously wondered.

Angel’s tone was one of grim determination. “If that’s all we’ve got.”

 

**************************************

“So -- you’re good now.” Cordelia’s tone was skeptical, but not harsh, as she observed the rather timid version of the vampire she had only seen a few times before. Of course, the version she had seen had been quite a bit more scary.

Spike shrugged self-consciously, not quite looking at her. “Not really,” he remarked, apparently not sure of the answer himself. “Sort of.”

“Yes,” Tara stated for him, meeting the brunette’s eyes firmly, a quiet challenge in her own.

Cordelia returned her gaze for a moment before looking back at the vampire, huddled on the sofa, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, as if he wanted to draw as physically far into himself as he possibly could.

“And -- and *Buffy*…”

Spike flinched, and Tara again replied, a bit impatiently, “*Yes*.”

Cordelia nodded, taking that in. “I always knew there was a psycho under that violent, power-mad exterior.”

That got a response from Spike, who looked up at her for just a moment to inform her, “She wasn’t always. She -- she’s different now.”

“Oh, yeah -- since she -- died,” Cordelia remembered, sounding a bit uncertain, searching Tara’s expression to see if it was the right answer, and nodding with relief when the blonde witch gave her a nod. Cordelia rolled her eyes with a slightly dramatic sigh. “I’m telling you, I am *so* glad I moved away from the freaking Hellmouth to L.A. -- where all we have to deal with is your average, every-day vamps and demons, not psychotic undead Slayers.”

This time, no one bothered to correct her once again incorrect definition.

Spike was sitting on the circular sofa, between Dawn and Tara, who both seemed to be feeling very maternal and protective, watching the unfamiliar faces in the room a bit warily, lest any of them should attempt anything that might bring further harm or trauma to their badly damaged friend.

Cordelia sat in a chair across from them, leaning idly back with her arms crossed, her legs gracefully crossed, the top one gently swinging back and forth. The strange little brunette that had been introduced as Fred mostly kept to herself, just sending nervous glances in the direction of the “strangers” every now and then.

Wesley and Angel were over by what had once been the reception desk, studying the image on a Polaroid photo that Angel had taken of the mark on Spike’s leg, in order to spare his childe the humiliation of having to undress in front of Angel’s coworkers, whom he had barely met. The former Watcher was comparing them to pictures in his books, as he rushed to try to find the ritual the Slayer had used, before she could return to her home in Sunnydale and discover Spike gone.

“I’m sorry, Angel,” Wesley was saying in a soft, cultured voice that was tinged with regret, “but I’m not seeing anything yet that matches the symbol in this photograph…”

“Then look harder,” Angel snapped.

Tara almost felt sorry for the mild-mannered Englishman, who really did seem to be doing his best to help -- but she understood Angel’s frustration, born of fear for Spike, and what might happen to him if they could not find what they needed in time.

She recognized it -- because she felt it herself.

Still, she knew that Wesley did want to help, if only because it would help put Angel’s mind at ease.

It was the other man -- the handsome black man who introduced himself as Gunn -- that had the blonde witch worried. Despite Angel’s explanations that Spike was family to him, and besides that harmless to humans, he kept casting suspicious glances in the direction of the blond vampire, and it was obvious to Tara that he had a very black and white view of the whole vampires vs. humans issue.

*Sort of like someone else I know,* Tara thought wearily, reminded of her ex-lover’s best friend, and the hard line ideas he had espoused of black and white, good and evil.

Her attention was drawn back to Spike, when she felt him tense at her side, his hand that was already clutching hers for dear life tightening slightly. When she looked at him, his eyes were fastened on the clock on the wall, which was inching ever closer to 2:00am, when Buffy would finish her shift at the Doublemeat Palace.

It read 1:35.

She gently tightened her arm around his shoulders, and he turned to look at her, a bit startled that she had noticed his rising fears.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she whispered, raising her hand to gently stroke through the hair at the back of his head, guiding his head down to her shoulder as she pressed a tender, sisterly kiss to his temple and repeated firmly, “It’s okay, Spike. We’re not gonna let her hurt you.”

Spike gratefully accepted her comfort, burying his face in the soft between her shoulder and her throat, nestling in closer to her like a child seeking solace in his mother -- but he could not help but wonder, even as he drank in the words -- even if they tried, could any of them really stop her?

*************************************

 

It was 2:15 when Buffy left the Doublemeat Palace.

It had been a horrifically stressful day, very busy and tiring, and she just wanted to get home. She was utterly exhausted after a long day in the heat and grease of the Doublemeat kitchen, and she desperately wanted a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.

And maybe an hour or so of stress relief with her favorite vampire toy in the basement.

At the very least, she needed to relieve him of the holy water gag in his mouth, and see what was left of his face.

*Teach him to run his mouth, the stupid little slut,* she thought viciously.

A cold smile crossed her lips at the thought of her helpless captive, waiting for her -- desperately, by this point -- knowing that she was the only one who could ease the torment she had left him in, and yet also knowing that her arrival was surely the herald of more torment. He was helpless -- hers to play with, to hurt, or even to kill should she so choose.

The very thought awakened her arousal, and suddenly she was very sure that she would be paying Spike a little visit before making her way up to the shower.

Buffy felt an overwhelming sense of relief, and anticipation, as she unlocked the front door and made her way through the living room, toward the kitchen, already reaching for the other, smaller key on her key ring -- the one that went to the padlock on the basement door.

She stopped short in the kitchen doorway, her mind taking a few moments to catch up with her eyes, widened in shock at the mess before her. The basement door had been removed completely, and was leaned up against the wall, the screws and hinges scattered on the floor beside the now-empty doorway.

She rushed down the basement stairs -- already knowing that she would find the underground prison of her own making empty.

*Dawn,* she thought immediately, her eyes narrowing with anger. *That nosy little brat has stuck her nose where it doesn’t belong for the last time!*

She stormed up the stairs, determined to find her little sister, find out what she had done with Spike -- beat it out of her if she had to -- and then take care of her, before she had the chance to tell any of the others about what she had found in the basement.

This was a Hellmouth.

She could easily convince her friends that any sort of mystical mishap had befallen her little sister. Of course, she would have to act suitably broken up about it for a while -- but that was a mere annoyance, nothing she couldn’t handle.

Right now, the first thought in her mind was locating her missing slave.

When she saw her sister’s bed empty, Buffy froze in the doorway, her eyes widening in indignant disbelief -- disbelief that rapidly became fury, and fury that swiftly changed to impotent rage.

*Well -- not really impotent,* she reminded herself, a cruel smile crossing her lips, as she pushed back the long sleeve of her shirt, gazing down at the blackened mark on her wrist with a smile of satisfaction. *Not impotent at all…*


	38. Chapter 38

The clock on the wall of the Hyperion read 2:15am.

 

The lobby of the old hotel was a flurry of activity, as Angel and his crew worked as hard as they could to try to come up with some sort of answer to the problem of the mark on Spike’s thigh.

 

Dawn and Fred had joined Angel and Wesley on book detail, searching for a ritual that sounded like that one that Buffy had performed, and Gunn had been sent for a list of mystical supplies that Tara had given him, things that would be necessary for your basic protection and anti-magic spells.

 

She wasn’t quite sure that such basic spells would do any good -- and would have no way of knowing, until they discovered exactly what the ritual was that Buffy had performed. Once they did, she expected to be the one to cast the counter-spells, though until then, she was pretty much leaving it up to the others. They already had four people searching through Angel’s impressive library of magical sources, and besides -- she was needed elsewhere at the moment.

 

On the circular sofa where he had been for the past hour -- Spike was swiftly and visibly falling apart.

 

“It’s okay,” she reassured him softly, one hand gently cupping the back of his head, and pulling his face down against her shoulder.

 

Gratefully he accepted the gesture, trembling hands clinging to her waist as he closed his eyes and leaned against her, his face buried in her blouse, his unneeded breath coming fast and shallow as he fought off his own rising panic.

 

He no longer wanted to know what time it was -- how much time he had left before he was once again a victim of Buffy’s cruel rage.

 

“Tara,” he whispered, a note of desperation in his trembling voice. “Tara, what am I…she’s gonna…”

 

“Shhh,” she whispered, running her fingers through his hair soothingly. “It’s gonna be all right. We’re gonna find an answer, Sweetheart. I promise, she is never going to touch you again.”

 

Tara’s voice was soft, her eyes damp with tears, and yet blazing with fury as she glared at the wall over Spike’s shoulder. It was frustrating not to know what to do, not to be sure if she really could deliver on the promises she was pouring out, in her desperate attempt to calm her terrified friend.

 

*And why shouldn’t he be?* she wondered bitterly. *He’s been raped and tortured and abused for months -- and now he’s four hundred miles away from the person who did it, and she can *still* get to him…I’ll kill her…I’ll kill her if she touches him again…*

 

The front door of the hotel suddenly opened, and Spike nearly leapt out of Tara’s arms, his head shooting up as his body jerked backward away from the door, regardless of the fact that logic should have told him, that Buffy was only just now probably discovering his absence, and could not possibly have made her way to L.A. yet.

 

It was Gunn, returning from one of L.A.’s several all night magic shops with the supplies that Tara had sent him to get.

 

“Calm down,” she softly soothed the vampire as the black man made his way to the circular sofa, shooting the nervous vampire a look of suspicious alarm as he sat down on Tara’s other side, placing the bags in his arms on the floor at her feet. “It’s okay, Spike…she couldn’t get here that fast, anyway…it’s okay…”

 

“He seems, uh…a little jumpy,” Gunn remarked dubiously, speaking to Tara, but with his dark eyes fastened warily on Spike, whose troubled blue eyes were wide, downcast, focused in shame at his own fearful reaction, on the floor at the black man‘s feet..

 

Tara felt her temper rising, though in all fairness, she knew it was not Gunn that she was really angry with. Still, she snapped sharply, “Um -- yeah. I wonder why. Did you get everything on the list?”

 

Gunn seemed reluctantly chagrined by her words, but his eyes smoldered with resentment at her severe tone. “Yeah. It’s all there.” He glanced up at the clock. “Though you ain’t got much time, now. Better hurry.”

 

“Planning to,” Tara replied shortly, shifting slightly as she turned toward Spike, wanting to free herself so that she could do the warding spells, but aware that Spike needed her comfort right now more than ever.

 

Before she could say another word, the blond vampire drew in a sharp, agonized breath, his entire body shaking convulsively as he clutched at her desperately, blinding seeking something to hold onto. His face was slipping in and out of its vampiric guise, as an anguished moan of agony left his trembling lips.

 

It was clear in an instant -- Buffy knew.

 

And she was not pleased.

 

**********************************

 

Buffy smiled coldly as she felt the success of her efforts through the bond that connected her to her vampire slave. She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of his terror, his suffering, across the miles, relishing the feeling of power, as she reassured herself that he had not really escaped her.

 

He was still easily within her grasp.

 

Her smile faded, her expression becoming dark and serious, as she picked up the small, sharp blade from the table in front of her, whispering dark Latin words as she plunged the razor edge through the soft flesh of her arm, across the lines of the mark on her own wrist. The cuts she created healed almost as quickly as she made them, but she knew that the real damage they were doing was happening somewhere else, somewhere far away from her…

 

She focused her mind, and sent dark, terrifying words across the bond to Spike, reminding him that he was hers, he could not escape her, reminding him of the things she could still do to him, and *would* do to him, once she inevitably got him back in her physical hands.

 

***********************************

 

Tara bit back a cry of pain as Spike’s scrabbling fingers accidentally pinched her flesh, and she struggled to get a grip on the clearly suffering vampire, needing to somehow calm him in spite of the agony he was experiencing, needing to get him under control so that they could do something to help him.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gunn, reacting simply to her cry of pain and Spike’s vampiric features, reaching into his jacket for a stake, which he held up cautiously, his eyes darting back and forth as he searched for a moment to attack, to defend the blonde woman on the couch. To him, it was very simple -- the vampire was hurting the woman, was out of control, and therefore had to be dusted.

 

Tara had other ideas entirely.

 

Her eyes flashed with a silver light as she turned her fierce gaze on Gunn, who froze at the sheer power in her eyes. She managed to free one hand, casting it out toward the wall over his shoulder -- and instantly the wooden stake in his hand was torn from his grasp, spinning end over end at lightning speed to bury itself in the wall behind him.

 

“Don’t,” she stated, her voice low and commanding, her eyes blazing with power and fury.

 

And Gunn didn’t.

 

Feeling the magic that was her heritage from her mother flowing through her veins -- a sort of natural magic that was beyond the shallow grasping at power that seemed to characterize most of Willow’s attempts -- Tara turned her full focus on Spike, who was still shaking violently, moaning in agony as he thoughtlessly struggled in her firm, gentle hands, made stronger by the power of her magic, his fists now clenching and unclenching harmlessly in the loose fabric of her blouse.

 

By now, everyone in the room was watching them, intent on what was happening in their little corner -- everyone but Wesley, who was still frantically paging through the book in front of him. He had looked up at the first sounds of the commotion, but then had simply looked back down again, his lips set in a tight, thin line as he focused his attention more fully on his goal, more urgent now than ever.

 

Dawn and Angel moved at the same time, hurrying anxiously toward the suffering vampire.

 

“Stay back,” Tara ordered sharply, though not unkindly, and something about her tone stopped them both in their tracks. She knew that they cared, and only wanted to help, but she also knew that the last thing Spike needed was to be surrounded so closely. He needed space, not the pressure of everyone’s anxiety and panicked good intentions.

 

“Spike,” she whispered. “Spike -- look at me…look at *me*…”

 

He struggled to obey, the conditioned response of obedience stronger than the agony he was experiencing, and his blue eyes were bright and panicked with his pain.

 

“Tara -- I think I found something…” Wesley called from across the room, a cautious excitement in his slightly trembling voice.

 

“Come over here!” she called out loudly, without taking her eyes from Spike’s. As she heard the ex-Watcher hurrying toward her, she spoke softly but firmly to Spike. “You have to calm down, Sweetheart. You have to calm down so we can do the blocking spells and *stop her*…”

 

Spike blinked at her a few times, his eyes blank and barely comprehending, before she saw a vague understanding in his pain-filled eyes. “Tara… it…it h-hurts,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks as his eyes squinted shut, his entire body shaking against her hands, caught in a violent spasm of pain.

 

“I know…I know, Sweetie…and I’m gonna try to make it hurt less, but you have to calm down…okay?”

 

Spike nodded almost frantically, nearly hyperventilating by now, but forcing himself to stay as still as possible in spite of the pain. He lowered his head toward her shoulder, and she allowed it, cradling him close in her arms, holding him firmly against her in an embrace that was both comforting and restraining.

 

“Good…that’s good, Sweetheart…” Tara soothed him. “Just like that, you’re doing good, Spike…”

 

She turned her head slightly toward Wesley, who was crouched down in front of the two of them, watching anxiously and waiting to see what the young witch -- who was much more experienced with magic than he was, after all -- to tell him what it was that she needed.

 

“Have you found anything?” she asked him quietly, her eyes boring into his intently.

 

“I believe I‘ve found the ritual Buffy used,” he informed her, focusing his attention on her, rather than the trembling, keening vampire in her arms. “It’s a rather dark binding spell , which in effect creates a sort of -- connection between Buffy and Spike, through which she can pass -- knowledge, feelings, perhaps even communication -- and while it‘s very powerful magic, and I‘m not sure if I can block it completely -- I should at least be able to -- to weaken the signal, so to speak?” He grimaced slightly at the slightly crude workding of his explanation. “I should at least be able to make it hurt him less…perhaps keep her from finding him…with a few basic warding spells.”

 

“Put the wards in place around the building,” Tara told him softly. “To block location spells, and to block magic in general…I found some spells that should work in that book right there…” As she spoke she nodded toward an old volume she had placed on the floor next to the couch. “You need to do the spells, Wesley -- I can’t leave him right now…”

 

Wesley nodded, his blue eyes solemn and piercing as he reached down to pick up the book.

 

“You need to do them on the hotel in general, not on Spike. I don’t want the magic I’m going to be doing on him to interfere with what you’re doing. Okay?”

 

“All right,” Wesley agreed. “I’ll work as quickly as possible, Tara.”

 

She nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

 

As Wesley moved away, book in hand, he called quietly, “Angel, Cordelia, Dawn -- could you help me, please?”

 

Tara was vaguely aware of -- and impressed with -- the fact that Wesley had deliberately chosen Angel and Dawn to assist him in the spells, to distract them from Spike’s alarming condition, and to give Tara the space and privacy she needed to work. She focused her attention back on Spike, who was shuddering in her arms, choking back sobs of agony by now.

 

“Come on, Spike,” she whispered. “I need you to listen to me, Sweetheart. I need you to get up -- can you do that?”

 

After a long moment he nodded, stumbling blindly toward his feet, aided by her steadying arms as she rose with him. “We need to go upstairs,” she told him. “Find a quiet, empty room where I can try something -- something that might help you, while the others are putting the spells in place to stop Buffy…okay?”

 

Spike again hesitated, as if he wasn’t quite hearing her, before nodding shakily. “A-all right, love,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please -- please let’s hurry…”

 

Tears sprang up in her eyes at the pleading note in his voice, as she led him carefully out of the lobby and toward the stairs, hoping against hope that she and the others could work their magic, before the damage done by Buffy’s bond was more than Spike was capable of recovering from.


	39. Chapter 39

Spike was barely aware of Tara’s supportive arms around him, as she led him stumbling up the stairs, to a different level of the old hotel, and some much-needed privacy. He knew that she was speaking quietly to him, heard the gentle encouragement and comfort in her voice, but could not quite make out the words, through the combination of his own physical suffering -- and a much deeper, emotional agony of which Tara could not have been aware.

 

Another voice was speaking to him, a cold, cruel voice that spoke right in his mind, effortlessly drowning out anyone else who might have tried to soothe him.

 

*See how easy it is for me to get to you, Spike?* her voice whispered maliciously in his mind. *You’re mine, and you always will be. I’m going to find you, Spike -- and I’m going to kill you. And I’m going to kill *her*, too. Everyone who stands in my way is going to *die*, Baby. And it’s all going to be your fault…*

 

***********************************

 

Spike seemed to be swiftly fading, and Tara was painfully relieved that he was so much lighter than usual, as by the time they reached the top of the flight of stairs leading to the second floor, she was nearly carrying him, supporting almost all of his weight.

 

He was weak with pain, and gasping for breath in a mixture of terror and agony, whimpering weakly beside her, shaking his head in denial, presumably of what was happening.

 

“It’s okay, Sweetheart,” she reassured him, though her own voice was taut with fear. “It’s going to be all right. We’re gonna stop her, you just have to hold on a little bit longer…” 

 

***********************************

 

In Sunnydale, Buffy felt a cruel sense of satisfaction, clearly able to feel Spike’s anguish of body and spirit through the bond that connected them. She focused on the darkest of her feelings and desires, sending waves of her rage and menace through the mark on her own wrist to the mark she had placed on Spike.

 

She was furious that he had managed to subvert her power over him -- even temporarily -- and was intent on making him suffer for it. When she got him back here, where he belonged, the long-distance pain she was causing him through the bond would be nothing compared to what she would do to him -- but for now, it would have to do.

 

In a few minutes, she would perform another ritual, a location ritual centered around their connected marks, that would show her where he was trying to hide from her, and lead her right to him. But now that she had him at least partially within her reach, her vindictive wrath could not stand to wait.

 

She would prove to her vampire that no matter how far he went, there was no way that he could escape her.

 

***********************************

 

Dawn’s hands were trembling violently.

 

As she took up the position Wesley indicated in her corner of the square now formed by Dawn, Wesley, Angel, and Cordelia, ready to say the words that the former Watcher had written down for her on a piece of paper, for her portion of the spell, she was incredibly nervous, terrified that she would say something wrong, do some little thing to mess up the spell, and leave Spike as vulnerable to her sister’s attacks as before they performed it.

 

“Oh, my God,” she groaned as a frightening thought occurred to her. She looked at Wesley with wide, troubled eyes, as she whispered, “What if I shouldn’t be doing this? What if the fact that I’m Buffy’s sister messes up the spell? What if it ends up helping her find him or something awful like that? Oh, my God, what are we gonna…”

 

“That won’t be a problem, my dear,” Wesley assured her calmly, a reassuring look in his eyes, though he appeared a bit nervous himself. “These are rather generic protection spells, meant to block attempts at magic from getting through the walls of this building, either for the purposes of location, or of causing harm. We merely represent the four walls. If it was a spell specifically aimed at your sister, well, then it might be an issue, but for what we’re doing…it should not be a problem.”

 

Dawn felt a little better, until she glanced uncertainly up at Angel, seeking further reassurance in his strength. She had not always liked the dark vampire -- in fact, she *never* had -- but he always seemed to have an air of calm about him, control, and in this case, it was something she needed to see.

 

Except that she *didn’t* see it.

 

Angel’s hands were trembling, too.

 

***********************************

 

Spike felt his knees buckle, just as he and Tara stepped through a doorway into an empty room, as a fresh onslaught of fierce, dark agony flowed over him, and he choked back a strangled sob of pain and pleading, pleading for a mercy that he knew would never come, even if Buffy could somehow sense his pleas through the bond.

 

And she probably could.

 

And she probably took pleasure in denying them.

 

Tara was leading him toward a large bed in the center of the room, but  as he reached it, his knees gave out, and he collapsed, clutching desperately at the blankets in an attempt to keep himself from falling, though it was too late by then.

 

He murmured an apology weakly, struggling to focus on Tara’s gentle orders as she wrapped her arms around him, struggling herself to pull him back up. He felt a sense of humiliation as she lifted him up into her arms with an effort, and barely managed to maneuver his pain-racked body onto the soft mattress.

 

*Nobody can help you, Spike,* Buffy told him in his mind, her cruel confidence tearing into his fragile, barely birthed hope. *They can try -- but in the end, I’m going to win. No one’s ever really beaten me, Spike, and no one ever will. Certainly not you, you pathetic little whore. You’re mine -- and I’m going to find you…*

 

**************************************

 

“Come on, Sweetie,” Tara murmured, though she wasn’t sure if Spike was even hearing her at this point. “Try and help me a little here…” As she spoke, she struggled to get him onto the bed. Even as comparatively light as he was right now, he was still about as heavy as she was, and it was difficult to maneuver him onto the mattress.

 

“S-sorry,” Spike mumbled pitifully, his voice slurred and distant, and Tara felt a growing sense of alarm at how disoriented he seemed.

 

He kept shaking his head, mumbling pleading words under his breath, trembling and flinching with fear.

 

“Spike,” Tara spoke gently to him, reaching to take his hand once he was laid out on the bed, a worried frown creasing her brow as she tried to catch his unfocused gaze. “Spike, Sweetie…where does it hurt, Honey? Where is she hurting you?”

 

“W-what…?” he mumbled, leaning slightly toward her as if he was having trouble hearing her.

 

Some beginning shred of understanding began to take root in Tara’s mind, but she couldn’t quite place it yet, as she gently, slowly repeated her question.

 

“Everywhere,” Spike whispered in a despairing voice. “It hurts everywhere…”

 

Tara felt her heart lurch within her, as she stood up straight for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Good,” she muttered grimly. “Good to know what you’re getting into, Tara…”

 

She laid down gently on the bed beside him, preparing to do some magic of her own.

 

**************************************

 

Buffy laid aside the knife she had used to slice into the wound, watching with idle fascination as the wounds healed up quickly and cleanly -- aware that the pain those wounds had caused her vampire slave would not fade nearly as quickly.

 

A vindictive smile twisting her cruel features, she reached for another item on the table in front of her, picking it up and watching as it glinted in the kitchen lights, opening and closing it a couple of times and watching as the tiny flame flared up and died down again and again.

 

Spike’s stolen cigarette lighter was going to become another instrument of his torture.

 

Steeling herself for the pain she knew it would cause, taking pleasure and strength in the knowledge that it would be tenfold for her victim, Buffy flicked the lighter, staring darkly into the flame for a few seconds, before drawing herself out of the momentary hypnosis.

 

Taking a deep breath, she raised her marked wrist and held it first over, and then directly in, the flame.

 

***********************************

 

Dawn’s words went off without a hitch, though they were in a language she did not know. Wesley assured her that pronunciation was not important, but still she could not help but worry.

 

They had done the cloaking spell first, to block Buffy’s attempts at locating Spike, and Wesley said that everything had gone as it was supposed to. There was no reason for them to think that the spell would fail.

 

Still, as Dawn took the book Wesley handed her from which to read her part for the other spell, the protection spell -- she could not help but wonder.

 

What if her sister was already on her way there?

 

************************************

 

By this point, Spike was trapped in the darkness of his own mind, an agony of burning steadily consuming his body, and Tara’s gentle voice became distant and hollow, overwhelmed by Buffy’s vicious words in his head.

 

*Think I can kill you from here, Spike? Think I can burn you to death with a thought, Baby?* A beat passed before she added in a whisper of sadistic menace, *I think I wanna try…*

 

A sense of panic gripped him as he felt the burning intensify, and Spike could not hold back a sharp cry of anguish, followed by shuddering, soundless sobs that shook him, hard enough to rock the bed as well.

 

“Spike,” Tara spoke firmly against his ear, and Spike was vaguely aware of her body, cool against his unnaturally flushed skin, nestled against him, turning him onto his side and wrapping herself around him from behind, clasping his trembling hands in her own firmly, entwining her legs with his to bring them into as much contact as possible. “Spike, Sweetheart -- hang on -- hang on, it’ll be over soon…”

 

He only wished that those words were true, but he knew that despite her threats, Buffy would not kill him, not unless she had no other choice left.

 

She enjoyed his pain far too much to willingly end it for good.

 

*You’re mine, Spike, and I’m not going to stop this, not until you’re back where you belong -- with me.*

 

*************************************

 

Tara began to quietly speak the Latin words to a spell she knew by heart, though she had only tried it once, many years ago. It had nearly worked, too, but the person she had been attempting to help had been too far gone.

 

Her mother had died, despite her young daughter’s best efforts.

 

But Spike -- Spike would not die from Buffy’s torment. Although Tara knew that the pain would not stop coursing into his body from Buffy’s malicious intentions, not until they had managed to block her attempts to harm him, she knew that she could at least ease his suffering somewhat.

 

Holding his hands in her own, Tara was alarmed at the heat radiating from his body, at the feverish moaning that told her that he was nearly delirious with pain, pain that no human could survive in its entirety.

 

Still, she was willing to take the risk -- for Spike.

 

She was willing to take his pain.

 

**************************************

 

Buffy glanced at the clock on the wall, using meditation techniques Giles had taught her to block out the pain of the lighter against her skin, all the while vindictively enjoying the power of the agony she was inflicting on Spike. She was looking forward to the moment when she could take her time with him, to express her displeasure at his rebellion in a more -- hands-on -- manner.

 

She smiled as she glanced at the clock again.

 

Another couple minutes, and she would allow Spike’s pain to ease -- just long enough to find out where he was, anyway.

 

**************************************

 

Dawn could feel the tension building in the room, all around her, and was simply relieved that her part in the ritual was already finished. Wesley was speaking the final words of the spell, carrying out the last steps of the ritual, and she desperately hoped that it worked, that their efforts would succeed in protecting her suffering friend upstairs.

 

In a few short minutes, the spell would be finished.

 

And the moment of truth would arrive.

 

***************************************

 

Spike knew that his ravaged body was on the verge of shutting down completely.

 

The agony kept steadily increasing, until he was sure that he could not take any more. He was losing all sense of reality, conscious only of the anguish, only of *her* voice in his head.

 

He was losing himself to her again.

 

*I’m gonna find you, Baby. I’m gonna find you, and I’m gonna bring you back here -- and you will *never* leave my basement again, Spike. You’re going to spend the rest of your miserable life paying for what you’ve done…*

 

His whole body was shuddering convulsively, though he was not sure whether it was more from the blazing pain tearing through his body, or from the terror of her threats, which he knew she was more than capable of carrying out.

 

Then -- miraculously -- the pain began to ebb.

 

Spike’s sense gradually began to return to him, as he felt the burning ease, and Buffy’s voice in his head becoming distant, quieter. His body began to cool, and behind him, Tara began to feel warm again, and he realized that he was returning to his normal body temperature.

 

Except -- Tara’s touch had never *burned* him before, as it was starting to now…

 

With alarm, Spike realized that not only was his body cooling, but hers was heating as well, and at an alarming rate.

 

**********************************

 

Tara felt the searing heat invading her body, flowing from Spike to her -- and she welcomed the pain.

 

Spike had been carrying the excruciating weight of it for far too long now – far longer than this single night -- and if she could ease it for him a little, she was willing to suffer in his place in order to do so. As she took his pain, she also heard the echoes of Buffy’s cruel words of menace, fleeting fragments of thought, barely there before they were gone again.

 

*Stupid little whore…kill you…think you can…hurt them, too…*mine*, Spike… *mine*!*

 

The dark malice behind Buffy’s words was worse than the physical pain, and Tara felt herself shaken by it. Between the heat of Buffy’s torture, and the cold terror that seized her, Tara’s body was soon convulsively trembling.

 

She was vaguely aware of Spike’s anxious voice, quickly becoming panicked, attempting to gain her attention, trying to pull her free of the torment that was now consuming her…but his efforts were useless, as she found herself lost in a world that had held him captive for months.

 

A world where all there was, was pain.

 

And then all at once -- the pain was gone.

 

*********************************

 

A moment after Tara’s pain eased, Buffy ceased her attempts to cause it.

 

She smiled with satisfaction as she lit the candle in front of her, said a few Latin words over it, and focused inward, trying to envision the place where Spike was now, where he was hiding from her.

 

Somehow, her efforts were only turned back on her.

 

She frowned, frustrated and puzzled by the failure of the spell, before trying again, repeating the spell, focusing harder -- and still, with no results.

 

She took a deep breath, attempting to calm her rising temper, aware that if she was too emotional, if she did any small part of the ritual wrong, it would only fail again. Butthe third time was no more successful than the first two.

 

Hurling the candle against the wall, the Slayer screamed her rage into the night.


	40. Chapter 40

“Tara! Tara, please! Love, please wake up! *Tara*!”

 

Spike felt as if he was screaming the desperate words at the unconscious girl on the bed beside him, but he wasn’t. His throat was raw and dry from the cries of his agony, only just ceased moments before, and his voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

 

As his mind began to clear of the pain-induced haze that had filled it, Spike remembered Tara’s soft voice chanting in Latin, and his eyes widened with realization, as he slowly made the connection, and realized exactly what it was that she had done.

 

She had taken his pain deliberately upon herself; and the agony that had broken him emotionally and nearly destroyed him physically had been far too much for her human body to bear. He could hear her heartbeat steady and strong as he began to calm down, and thought that it was possible her loss of consciousness was a mercy, sparing her any further pain.

 

Physically, anyway.

 

*What if she *hasn’t* escaped it? Buffy could be doing anything to her still…just ‘cause Taracan’t show it, being unconscious and all, doesn’t mean she’s not feeling it. What if she’s just bloody trapped in there, with -- with *her*?*

 

“Tara…love, you have to wake up! *Wake up*!” his weary voice rasped out the words, as he shook her shoulders lightly, his chip firing a warning as his grip bordered on painful for the semi-conscious girl.

 

But, Spike was quite sure that just as the pain Buffy had caused him had blotted out the inconsequential pangs of his chip in the lobby downstairs, now the suffering Tara had willingly taken upon herself would surely keep her from feeling any slight pain he might cause her in his attempts to rouse her.

 

His heart broke to think that she was hurting in his place, and he started to get up, determined to go downstairs and get Angel, the Watcher, *someone* who might be able to do something to help her…

 

…but then, he felt a weak, barely there touch on his arm, and turned back toward Tara with wide, hopeful eyes. She was awake, looking up at him through weary, bloodshot eyes, her hand now resting more firmly on his arm and urging him gently back down beside her.

 

She was smiling serenely, even through her visible exhaustion.

 

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice soothing in response to the terror that was obvious on his face. “I’m okay -- it’s okay, Spike. Are *you* okay? Are you hurting?”

 

Spike stared down at her for a moment, barely able to believe that she was awake and not in any obvious pain. “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “No, I -- I’m all right.”

 

Tara’s smile widened with relief, and she closed her eyes, resting her head back on the pillows again as her hand gently stroked his arm. “Good,” she whispered with immense satisfaction. “Good…”

 

Spike’s eyes welled with fresh tears, and his hands gently clutched her shoulders as he stared down at her, reassuring himself that she was all right.Slowly,his anxious grip gentled into a caress, running up and down her arms in a soothing gesture -- though which of them he was soothing, he couldn’t be sure -- as he lowered his head to rest against her breast, gasping with relief.

 

“Tara,” he sobbed quietly. “Oh, Tara, love…you’re okay, you’re…thank you, thank you, love, *thank you*…” he whispered against her in desperate gratitude, his tears soaking her blouse as he clung to her, overwhelmed with emotion at the awesome act of love, the sacrifice that she had just made for him.

 

“Shhh,” she gently instructed, raising one slightly trembling hand to run through his hair gently. “It’s all right. I’m okay now…we both are.” She was quiet a moment before reflecting in a puzzled voice, “She must have stopped…”

 

“No,” Spike objected, raising his head to look her in the eyes, his own solemn and apprehensive. “She wouldn’t have stopped.”

 

“Then -- then the spell must have worked!” Tara concluded, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “The others, downstairs -- they must have stopped her!”

 

Spike stared at her for a moment, taking a few moments to process the idea that Buffy had actually been stopped, even temporarily.

 

It was difficult for him to fathom the thought.

 

After all, he had spent the last few months being viciously trained to believe that she was practically omnipotent, an unstoppable power that would have her way with him, no matter what other force was used to try to prevent her.

 

Tara seemed to sense his thoughts, her eyes softening with compassion on his face, as her free arm rose to wrap around him, pulling him gently up at her side and pressing his face against her shoulder.

 

“They stopped her,” she repeated firmly, her voice low and soothing. “They stopped her, Spike. She can’t hurt you now. You’re safe now, Sweetheart…”

 

Spike knew she was trying to calm him, to reassure him, and nodded in a vague attempt to respond appropriately to her attempts, though his mind was spinning with the concept of safety, after so long without it. He still wasn’t quite sure that he should trust her words, a part of him certain that Buffy was going to find a way to hurt him, no matter how hard they tried to stop her.

 

It was true that Buffy would certainly not assume that Spike would go to Angel for help; this old hotel they were sheltered in would likely be the last place she would expect him to willingly go. But that did not mean that she would not contact Angel, if only to tell him whatever story she would surely make up to explain Spike’s disappearance with Tara and Dawn, and “warn” the souled vampire to keep an eye out for him.

 

Buffy knew Angel well; what if she managed to sense that he was hiding something?

 

What if she started asking questions, and Angel accidentally let something slip?

 

What if she decided to come here and see for herself…?

 

Spike was not even aware when he dissolved into tears again, his shoulders shaking with soundless sobs, as he clung to Tara, his tumultuous emotions pouring from him into the safety of her embrace. She wordlessly drew him nearer to her, cradling his head against her shoulder and murmuring soothing words in his ear, her fingers tracing lightly through his hair as she held him close with her other arm.

 

Spike thirstily drank in the gentle touches, the tender words of affection and reassurance, pitifully grateful for every one. He had been taught that he was not worthy of such things – but Tara gave them freely to him. He had been forced to believe that no one would ever want anything of him but to use him -- and yet, Tara had willingly taken his pain on herself, and now asked nothing in return but the chance to hold him and soothe away what remained of it.

 

He learned to fear…but Tara was teaching him to trust again.

 

Spike knew that it would be a long time before he felt truly safe, if ever, but this -- here in the sheltering affection of Tara’s arms -- this was a good start.

 

***********************************

 

Hot tears streaked Tara’s face as she held Spike close to her, trying to will away the horrific agony she now knew too well that he had experienced. Buffy’s carefully chosen words of menace and degradation resounded in her mind with disconcerting clarity; the aftershocks of the physical agony the Slayer had inflicted echoed in her body, and she shuddered at the sickening thought of how long Spike had endured Buffy’s torture, without any hope of escape.

 

Her heart ached as his shaking hands tangled desperately in her blouse, as if begging her wordlessly not to leave him, and for a protection that, for all her promises, she was not sure that she had to give. All she could do was her best -- but she was terribly afraid that it might not be enough.

 

But she *could* hold him, and love him, and give him all the affection and reassurance that she had to give -- and that, she was determined to do.

 

It was not difficult.

 

Over the course of the past few weeks, she had seen something in Spike that she was all too familiar with, something that reminded her of a timid, terrorized little girl that she had known, not so very many years ago. She could not miss the shame and uncertainty in his eyes -- not when it had filled her own for so much of her life.

 

Her heart had broken for Spike from the moment she had learned of the abuses he was suffering at Buffy’s hands; and as the days passed, and she grew closer to him, she had only come to care for him more and more. There was so much sensitivity and love in the vampire that the Scoobies so despised, and knowing that made Buffy’s calloused, brutal treatment of Spike seem all the more obscene.

 

Spike’s gradually increasing trust in her had only strengthened Tara’s affection for him, and her determination to do all that she could to ensure that he was not alone in his pain, as she had been for so long. By the time they reached the Hyperion, she counted him as her dearest friend, and swore that she would never abandon him, not if it cost her her own life.

 

She had willingly taken Spike’s pain into herself, rather than allow him to suffer at Buffy’s hands again -- and the depth of humiliation, the utter despair of his helpless position, had taken her breath, as much as the actual physical pain. Still, she knew that what for her had lasted only moments had lasted so much longer for Spike, and she was glad to be able to do just that small thing for him.

 

So it was that his broken, humble words of gratitude following her actions tore at her heart, his tears drawing her own from her eyes.

 

“It’s all right,” she reassured him quietly, tenderly, her lips brushing against the top of his head as she spoke, and without really meaning to, in an instinctive gesture of affection, they brushed through his hair again, pressing against his hairline in a soft kiss. “Spike, it’s all right, Sweetheart…I love you…it’s gonna be all right…I’m gonna keep you safe, Sweetie…”

 

Her words trailed off when she felt him tense against her, his body going rigid at the light touch of her lips against his skin. She silently cursed her own carelessness, remembering with regret the violations he had experienced, and the violent, humiliating connections his mind now likely made with any such contact.

 

“Spike,” she whispered, drawing back slightly, gently but firmly pushing him back when he tried to hold her close. She had a feeling that at the moment, his motives for wanting her close had more to do with avoiding her eyes than with keeping her near to him. “Spike, look at me…”

 

They were lying side by side now, their faces inches apart, but he refused to raise his eyes to hers. His jaw was set in a stubborn but trembling line, his eyes tightly closed, his head bowed.

He shook his head slightly. “I know,” he whispered, the words barely a breath, though she could clearly hear in them his shame at his instinctive reaction to her touch. “I know, Tara…I’m stupid…I’m sorry…I know it’s not…”

 

“Spike,” she repeated slowly, her voice both firm and gentle at once. “Look at me.”

 

He swallowed hard, wincing slightly as he reluctantly raised his haunted, anguished eyes to hers, his shame and self-disgust evident in his gaze. He was steeling himself for something he was afraid to see in her face, but was painfully sure would be there.

 

Revulsion…disdain…pity…

 

He found none of them in Tara’s gaze.

 

Her eyes shone with a warmth and tenderness that took his breath, drawing him into her light, as she raised a gentle hand to touch his chin, tilting his face up toward hers.

 

“You are not stupid, Spike,” she assured him softly. “Andyou have nothing to be ashamed of. She made you feel this way, Sweetheart. Like -- like you have to be afraid of every touch. Like any intimate contact at all has to be intended to hurt…”

 

“I k-know you wouldn’t hurt me, Tara, I’m sorry…I just…” Spike stammered, his eyes downcast again, his voice confused and self-conscious.

 

“Shhh.”

 

Tara’s finger on his lips stilled his protests, and he flinched, immediately grimacing in disgust at his own reaction.

 

“I know you can’t help it, Spike. I know…she took something so precious from you…butwe’re not going to let her keep it, Spike.”

 

He felt his eyes brimming with tears at her tender certainty, the loving conviction in her voice, and he lowered his head, gasping back fresh sobs, even as he drank in her encouraging, perceptive words.

 

“I don’t do this,” Tara began, before leaning cautiously toward him and placing a light, deliberate kiss on his brow, “to hurt you, Spike. I do this because I love you…because you make me want to show you what you mean to me…”

 

Spike tensed under her hands at his arms, shaking his head in denial of her words.

 

“*Yes*,” Tara insisted, her hands gently smoothing up and down his arms as she added, “I want to touch you…hug you…hold you…because you’re precious to me, Spike…and I don’t want to see you hurting, ever. I want to be your friend, Spike…want to be here, if you need to talk…to be held…need *anything*, Sweetheart…because you deserve to be loved…”

 

“Wh-whore.”

 

Tara blinked, startled by the unexpected word, sounding broken and hollow and despairing on Spike’s dry, cracked lips.

 

“What?”

 

“I’m nothing -- nothing but her whore,” Spike whispered, his voice sounding strangely distant and achingly lost. “I don’t d-deserve *anything*, Tara. All I’m good for -- all I could ever do right…” He shook his head, swallowing back a sob, tears flowing freely from his eyes. “Worthless,” he concluded in despair. “I’m not g-good enough, Tara. I’m -- I’m a *thing* to be used. A dirty, disgusting…”

 

“No.”

 

Tara’s tone left no room for argument, as she tenderly brushed her fingers across his lips, silencing his devastating words.

 

“No, Spike. That’s not you. Those are lies she told you, and nothing more.” Her voice, hardened with restrained fury toward his oppressor, became hushed and awed as she continued, “You’re amazing, Spike.” Her hand rose to cup the back of his head as she moved in to lay a feather-soft kiss at his temple.

 

“Brilliant…”

 

Another kiss found the line of his jaw, and he swallowed reflexively, his body shuddering with the breaking, piece by piece, of emotional walls that had long seemed impenetrable, as Tara went on firmly, admiringly.

 

“*Strong*…”

 

Spike tried to shake his head, to deny the word that he no longer felt applied to him at all, but Tara held his head gently with one hand as she shifted the focus of her silken lips to his closed eyes, kissing one and then the other, before breathing out,

 

“Beautiful…”

 

Spike opened his eyes as she drew back, staring up at her in stunned wonder and disbelief.

 

“Spike, you are incredible -- amazing -- and you deserve to be loved.” Tara held his gaze as she pressed a brief, innocent kiss to his slightly parted, trembling lips, before assuring him earnestly, “I love you, Spike. I’m doing this because I love you…because…”

 

“Shesaid she loved me,” Spike confessed brokenly, lowering his head toward her chest. He winced as he spoke the words…as if he couldn’t bear to say them, and yet somehow had no choice, his devastated heart pouring them out, rejecting their bitterness and anguish.

 

Tara sensed that while he had to get this out, he could not bear to face her when he did, and she drew him in closer to her, allowing him to hide his face against her chest as he admitted in a desolate voice of agony, “She told me she loved me, Tara…and I-I’d wanted to hear it for so bloody long…I…I let her in…I’m so sorry, Tara, I let her in…”

 

“Shhh,” Tara soothed him as his words shattered into sobs that shook his body. “It’s all right, Spike…it’s not your fault…”

 

“She said she loved me,” he cried out with the heartache of Buffy’s betrayal. “She told me…how could she…?”

 

“She lied, Spike. Love doesn’t hurt. Not like that.”

 

The vampire, whose only experience with receiving love had been with the kind that *did* hurt, was silent, his chest heaving against her with desperate, needy breaths as he struggled to regain his composure and listened to her tender reassurances.

 

Tara’s fingers played soothingly through his hair again as she cannily told him, “I know that nothing in your life has made you believe that -- so it must be really hard. But I’m not going anywhere, Spike. I’m your friend, and I love you -- and I’m going to show you real love, until you know how much you really deserve it, Sweetheart. I’m going to do my best to protect you, Spike…and I’ll never leave you. I promise.”

 

Quietly, in the stillness that descended upon them, wrapped in the comforting embrace of his best friend, Spike’s heart broke a little more, a sense of longing despair mingling with the rising hope her words had inspired in him.

 

Because once again, Spike was falling in love…with a woman who could never be his.


	41. Chapter 41

Tara and Spike lay in each other’s arms in silence for a long time, soaking in the simple comfort of each other’s embrace. In the aftermath of Buffy’s brutal physical and emotional attack, the quiet and stillness was a blessed relief.

 

Spike could not remember the last time he had felt so blissfully *safe*.

 

Tara cleared her throat, shifting slightly beside him as she murmured reluctantly, “I suppose we’d better go down before long. I’m sure the others are wondering if we’re even still alive.”

 

And just like that, Spike’s sense of safety vanished.

 

Here, in the quiet with Tara, he could almost believe that it had never happened -- that this was his reality, and the time spent in Buffy’s cruel possession was nothing more than a terrible nightmare. Going downstairs to join the others again would bring the memories painfully back to him. They would surround them, all talking at once, agitated and excited, and likely standing far too close to him -- and the fear, the uncertainty, would come flooding back, just like that.

 

He must have clutched her closer, without realizing it, because Tara pressed a tender, reassuring kiss to the top of his head, holding him tighter as she whispered soothingly, “It’s gonna be all right, Spike. No one down there wants to hurt you, you know that.”

 

“The one with the stake -- Gunn, is it? -- I’d bloody well bet *he’d* like to get the chance!” Spike mumbled against her shoulder, aware that his voice sounded sullen and petulant…not caring that it did.

 

“Like I’d ever let him get that chance!” Tara scoffed darkly, thinking a moment before drawing back slightly, tilting her head downward in an attempt to catch Spike’s downcast gaze. “You missed my neat little trick with his stake, didn’t you?”

 

Spike looked up at her at that, one eyebrow raised speculatively, but before he could make the undoubtedly suggestive remark she knew he was thinking, there was a tentative knock on the door.

 

Spike started at the sound, the humor and fledgling confidence vanishing from his face as he scrambled to turn over, his eyes wide with instinctive fear. Tara rushed to soothe him, sitting up in the bed beside him and wrapping a steadying arm around his shoulders, pulling him close to her as she called out quietly,

 

“Who is it?”

 

“It’s me.” Dawn’s spoke hesitantly from the hall, but she did not open the door. “Are you guys -- are you okay?”

 

“Come on in, Sweetie,” Tara told her, smiling at the girl as she stepped into the room, shutting the door silently behind her. “We’re fine…we’re just fine.”

 

Spike felt her gentle squeeze on his shoulder, and knew that the words were as much for his benefit as for Dawn’s. Unexpectedly, he felt a fresh rush of emotion for Tara, swallowing back the lump that rose in his throat at the tenderness and compassion he heard in her voice.

 

“Then…our spell worked.” Dawn returned Tara’s smile, relief in her voice. “We stopped her.”

 

With an effort, Spike focused his attention on Dawn, casting a grateful glance toward Tara as he said, “Well, yeah -- but Tara did her part, too. Do you know what she did?”

 

Dawn looked between them expectantly, as she shook her head. “What?”

 

Spike opened his mouth to reply, but Tara’s gentle nudge momentarily silenced him, as she answered instead in a firm voice, “I did a spell of my own, managed to make the pain go away until you guys could finish your spells downstairs.”

 

Spike glanced up at her, unsure as to why she would not want him to tell Dawn exactly what she had done for him, but understood the moment he met her eyes. There was no need to trouble the younger girl any further. She already knew that her sister had viciously tortured one of her best friends, many times, once in the past hour.

 

There was no need for her to know that Tara had become a victim of Buffy’s brutality as well, even willingly.

 

“That’s great, Tara!” Dawn’s smile widened with relief at the thought that Spike had not had to suffer for the length of time it had taken them to work their magic downstairs. “So the pain’s all gone now?” She sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching to take Spike’s hand in hers, compassion in her deep blue eyes.

 

“Yeah, no more pain,” Spike affirmed, drawing a smile to his lips with a bit less effort than it would have previously required.

 

He wondered if those words would ever again be more than a half-truth.

 

“The others were worried,” Dawn confirmed Tara’s earlier words. “They thought -- well, they weren’t sure we’d finished the spell in time. They wanted to come up here, but I told them not to, that I would.” She frowned in irritation as she added, “Angel didn’t want to let me. He said he’d come up and check on you guys, but I thought that might not be a good idea.”

 

“He’s all right,” Spike spoke quietly, surprising himself by taking up for his sire. “Means well, even if he’s got a funny way of showing it sometimes.”

 

“Well, I didn’t really think he’d like, hurt you guys or anything. I just thought you might like some privacy,” Dawn explained with a shrug. “Just in case…I mean…I just thought maybe…”

 

As her words seemed to become more difficult for her, and her face colored with embarrassment, both Tara and Spike gradually realized what it was that she had suspected. Both laughed in surprise, though one laugh was soft and gently amused, while the other seemed a bit forced.

 

“*Please*, Bit,” Spike scoffed, a bit too emphatically. “Tara’s not exactly my type, now is she?” He was facing Dawn as he spoke, and dared not look at Tara, afraid that she might see too much in his all-too-expressive eyes -- so he missed the slight flinch of hurt surprise the blonde gave at his words.

 

Dawn did not.

 

“What, you mean she’s sane and not prone to violence?” she quipped, glaring at Spike.

 

Confused by her abrupt shift in mood, Spike slowly and cautiously corrected her, “Noooo…I mean she’s not into men. Personally, I prefer a woman who prefers *me*, Niblet.”

 

Dawn’s expression softened as she understood what he had meant by his words, and Tara felt her momentary hurt assuaged by the explanation. Still, she felt a troubled sensation in the pit of her stomach, a feeling of unease to which she could not quite put a name.

 

Until the meaning of his words had been clarified, she had been stung by Spike’s remark -- but why?

 

And, why did it bother her to hear him state so plainly the reason why Dawn’s childish hopes for them could never come to pass?

 

It was true, wasn’t it?

 

All she felt for Spike was friendship, nothing more.

 

If she found herself putting his feelings, his needs, before her own and everyone else’s, it was only because that was what he needed right now, someone to put him first for the first time in over a century. If she thought about him first thing upon waking every morning, that was only because of the danger she knew he was in; and her temporary fixation on Spike would surely cease once she knew that he was safe at last.

 

If she found herself missing him every moment that he was not with her, it was only because she had become so accustomed to having him at her side, and was afraid of what might happen to him if she was not there to do all she could to protect him.

 

There was nothing more to it than that.

 

Was there?

 

Tara cleared her throat, breaking the slightly uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the room while she had been lost in her thoughts.

 

“Well,” she said aloud, bringing a smile to her lips as she looked at Spike and Dawn in turn. “I guess we should go ahead and get downstairs. We’ve stopped Buffy for the moment, but we know better than to think she won’t try again. Now that whatever magic she’s been trying to do has failed, she’s going to pull Willow into this. I’m sure of it.”

 

“We can’t compete with Red’s magic, can we?” Spike guessed, his voice low and solemn, his eyes touched with fear again as they met Tara’s, pleading for reassurance that he knew would be false if she offered it.

 

She could not lie to him.

 

“I -- I’m not sure, Spike. Willow’s really powerful,” Tara admitted, holding his gaze unflinchingly, before looking at Dawn and drawing her into the conversation. “We need to get busy, figure out a way to permanently break the hold she has on you, what exactly is wrong with her, and…and how to reveal her for who she really is, to the others.”

 

Dawn’s eyes widened at those words, and she looked down for a moment, considering, before raising her eyes to Tara’s again, nodding slowly and resolutely. “We have to. Who knows who she’ll hurt next?”

 

Tara’s voice was grim as she answered the rhetorical question.

 

“Anyone who gets in her way.”

 

**********************************

 

“Buffy…Buffy, you have to calm down; I can’t understand a word you’re saying! *Buffy*!”

 

Anya rose up on one elbow in the bed where she lay beside Xander, frowning with concern at the anxious sound of his voice, and his troubling words. She had rarely seen the Slayer out of control, but now, she could hear Buffy’s loud, frantic voice clearly, although the telephone receiver was a couple of feet from her ears.

 

“Buffy…slow down…what about…*what* happened to Dawn?”

 

Whatever Buffy said next, Xander finally caught the general idea, because his eyes went wide with horror, and his face paled before Anya’s eyes, his hand clenching tightly around the telephone receiver.

 

“We need to meet,” Xander finally stated, his voice low and trembling. “Buffy…*no*. Don’t -- don’t try and go anywhere by yourself right now, you’re too -- you’re too freaked out. Just wait for us, we’ll pick you up at your house. I’ll call Will and have her meet us. Don’t do anything, just -- just try to calm down. We’ll be there in just a few minutes, okay? Okay…bye.”

 

“What is it?” Anya asked him as he hung up the phone, his hand lingering over the receiver for a few moments, his dark eyes wide and shocked and staring into space. “Xander, what’s happened?”

 

“Spike,” Xander finally replied, his eyes narrowing with hatred and anger. “He broke the lock on Buffy’s basement door, and got out in the middle of the night…and…and he took Dawn.”

 

“But,Spike wouldn’t hurt Dawn,” Anya objected, frowning, shaking her head in confusion. “They’re friends. He wouldn’t…”

 

“He’s a monster, Anya. He doesn’t *have* friends. Only naïve girls who haven’t figured out yet what he really is.”

 

The scathing tone of Xander’s voice as he threw back the blankets and jumped to his feet, hurriedly beginning to get dressed, made Anya flinch, though she was almost certain that the venom in it was not directed at her. She couldn’t quite tell if he was including her under the label of those “naïve girls” or not. But, as she reluctantly rose from the bed and got dressed herself, Anya could not help but think about the parallel between Xander’s opinion of such “naïve girls”, and the naïve boy who had not yet figured out what *she* truly was.

 

******************************

 

When Xander and Anya arrived at Buffy’s house, they found the door unlocked, and did not bother to knock. Buffy was sitting in the living room on the sofa, staring blankly at the floor, her expression flat and lifeless. Anya was uncomfortably reminded of the time when Glory had taken Dawn, when it had taken all of Willow’s magical power to draw Buffy out of the refuge she had made for herself, in her own mind.

 

“Buffy,” Xander spoke with concern as he made his way to her side, kneeling beside where she sat, taking her hand and looking up into her staring eyes. “Buffy, look at me.”

 

As Buffy turned stunned, bewildered eyes on her friend at last, Anya left them, wandering into the kitchen, toward the empty basement. She frowned when she saw the door, leaned neatly against the wall beside the doorway…the hinges and screws lying on the floor next to the screwdriver that had loosened them.

 

Buffy’s hoarse, tearful voice from the kitchen doorway startled her, and she looked up at her with a silent question in her eyes.

 

“I think…I think he tricked Dawn…somehow. Got her to…to unlock the door.” 

 

“Was he chained up?” Xander asked fretfully. “I thought you’d been keeping him chained up.”

 

“He was. But…but,she must have let him loose,” Buffy guessed, her face crumpling and her hands rising to cover it as fresh sobs overwhelmed her. “Oh, God, Xander…what if he hurts my baby sister? What if he…” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head in despair.

 

Despite the evidence to the contrary, Anya could not imagine Spike doing anything to harm Dawn. She looked to her fiancée, trying to gauge his reaction to the scene, and the dark, troubled look he gave her told her that they were definitely not in agreement on the most likely outcome. Xander’s worried expression told her that he had no doubt that Dawn had already met some terrible fate at Spike’s hands, and was only not saying so for Buffy’s sake.

 

“Come on,” Xander said gently, putting an arm around Buffy’s shoulders and leading her out of the kitchen and toward the front door. “Let’s go. Willow’s meeting us at the Magic Box.”

 

As the Slayer and her friend slowly made their way back into the living room, Anya stood where she was a moment longer, frowning, trying to put her finger on just what was bothering her so badly. She stared at the carefully removed pieces of the door, before her eyes were drawn toward the stairs themselves, and the darkness beyond them.

 

She took a slow step toward the basement, without even realizing that she had moved…

 

“Anya!”

 

She jumped, although Xander’s voice was low and gentle, turning to face him.

 

“Come on, Honey, we’ve gotta go,” he urged her, nodding toward the front door.

 

Taking a deep breath, Anya turned away from the basement doorway and whatever lay beyond it, following her fiancee out into the living room. Within minutes, the three of them were in the car, headed toward the Magic Box.


	42. Chapter 42

“I hardly find it possible to think that the girl I knew in Sunnydale could be capable of such -- such atrocities.”

Cordelia looked up from where she sat on the circular sofa across from the former Watcher, who was leaning against the reception desk, a bewildered expression of disbelief on his face as he shook his head slowly.

“Makes Faith look like a saint, doesn’t she?”

Uncomfortable, Spike shifted unintentionally back against Tara’s arm, which rested casually along the back of the sofa. He felt a sense of mingled gratitude and relief when she immediately responded, allowing her arm to drop across his shoulders, offering a subtle reminder of her support and understanding.

“So what do you think caused this?” Angel asked abruptly, not to anyone in particular, glancing around the room with somber, unhappy eyes. “Do you think it was her coming back from the dead? Do you think that she…?”

“Came back wrong?” Tara suggested quietly, and all eyes turned to her, sobered and uncertain at the verbalization of the idea that had already entered all of their thoughts.

She immediately felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of their multiple stares, as her thoughts turned self-consciously to her own role in Buffy’s ill-advised resurrection. It was not the first time that she had found herself considering how things might have been different, had she followed her instincts and refused to take part in the spell that Willow had been so certain would go right.

Apparently, nothing was further from the truth.

“It was one of Red’s spells that raised her,” Spike pointed out, his voice subdued, yet tinged with a note of anger. “Of *course* it bloody well went wrong!”

A moment of awkward silence fell over the assembled group, each taking in those words and considering the possible ramifications of them.

“Okay,” Angel ~~finally~~ broke the silence with a weighted sigh. “We need to focus here. We need to take stock of exactly what we need to do from this point…each problem we’re dealing with here, and possible solutions…”

“Ooooh! A list! I can make a list!”

The strange but sweet little brunette with the boy’s name -- Frank, was it? -- stood up from where she sat cross-legged on the floor in the corner of the room, moved eagerly to the front desk on which Wesley was leaning and rifled through the drawers until she found what she sought -- a small black and white composition notebook. She held it up with a triumphant smile.

“Okay! Let’s start with the problems, a page for each, and then we can start figuring out the solutions!”

Her excitement was infectious, if a bit inappropriate given the dire circumstances they were facing. Strangely, Spike felt comforted by her efficient, competent air, as if the terrified little thing had suddenly found herself immersed in her own element again.

A slow smile came over Wesley’s face as he met Angel’s eyes over the tiny brunette’s oblivious head, and Spike saw his sire’s eyes light up as they turned back toward the girl and he nodded in response to her words.

“Right,” the older vampire agreed. “Let’s get this down. Good idea, Fred.”

*Fred, that’s it…knew it was a boy’s name…*

“Okay. Problems,” Fred began, her tone all business now, her pencil poised over the page and tapping it eagerly.

“Number one would have to be, my sister’s a psycho,” Dawn stated flatly.

“Okay, got it…psychotic…vampire…slayer…” Fred muttered the words aloud as she wrote them down in the notebook. Suddenly she looked up again at the younger girl as she explained, “And…technically she’s not psychotic…not unless she’s seeing things and answering voices that aren’t really there. I think what you mean is psychopathic. Unless…she’s…*not* seeing things and hearing voices, is she?”

“Um…I don’t know…I don’t think so,” Dawn replied, wide-eyed at the possibility.

Spike shook his head, not looking up as he clarified in a flat, expressionless voice that barely served to mask his fear, “No. Not that I…not that I saw…”

“She’s gonna be looking for us soon, if she isn’t already,” Tara pointed out. “Her first plan failed, to locate Spike through the bond, so now she’s gonna be really mad, and all the more determined to find him.”

“*Temporarily* failed,” Wesley’s grim voice reminded them all. “I was able to temporarily block her attempts, but I’m not quite sure how long our wards will hold against the power of such an accomplished witch as you say Willow has become…”

“Wait, *wait*! That’s two different problems! Or maybe three…” Fred frowned, anxiously chewing on the end of her pencil and glancing between Tara and Wesley expectantly, waiting for one of them to clarify the situation.

“Three?” Cordelia raised a dubious eyebrow in her direction.

Fred impatiently ticked off on her fingers as she spoke, “Psychopathic Slayer with a vengeance, relentlessly looking for Spike, potentially shoddy spellsmanship on our part against the expert magic of a very powerful witch…”

“What?” Wesley interrupted, sounding offended at the disparaging comment on his magical abilities. “I never said…”

“Yes,“ Fred went on without acknowledging Wesley’s protest, her expression thoughtful. “Three problems. The first is the fact that Buffy is psychopathic…crazy…right now. Not that being crazy makes her necessarily a bad person, or anything, because, *hello*, who hasn’t been crazy at one time or another and some people just naturally are crazy more than they’re sane sometimes and really how can you blame her when she spent time in another dimension, no matter *what* kind of dimension it was, because that can be a very traumatic experience for anybody, and…”

Fred’s rambling words trailed off, her dark eyes growing wide and serious as she realized that she had unintentionally drawn the curious attention of everyone in the room. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat and returned to the subject at hand.

“Anyway…problem number one is how to make her…not crazy.”

“Number two is how to keep her from finding us until we can accomplish the first one,” Dawn picked up for Fred, her wary glance in the other brunette’s direction making it clear that she was trying to prevent another rant.

“And, number three is how to keep Willow’s magic from breaking down our magic and allowing Buffy to get to Spike,” Tara finished quietly.

“Any other problems?” Fred asked, glancing up through wide eyes from one face to another, her head bowed over her notebook, her pen poised to write.

“None that we’re prepared to deal with,” Gunn replied with a raised eyebrow fastened on her anxious expression.

Angel’s voice was low and grim as he pointed out, “Who says we’re prepared to deal with *these*?”

“Actually,” Tara interrupted, her voice hesitant and apologetic.

Spike knew before she went on that what she had to say was not going to be pleasant for him to hear, when he felt her embracing arm grow tighter around his shoulders, in a wordless cue of warning and reassurance.

“Actually…we do have one more. The bond that Buffy’s placed on Spike. We need to find a way to break it, permanently.”

There was a moment’s silence, before Wesley spoke up hesitantly. “I’m…not quite certain that such a thing is possible at all, Tara. I’ve thoroughly read everything we have on that particular ritual, and it appears to me…”

“Then it appears wrong,” Tara cut him off, a hard edge forming in her words as her eyes blazed into the former Watcher’s with a fierce determination. “There has to be a way…and we have to find it.”

 

**************************************

The small group that made up what was left of the Scoobies sat in uncomfortable silence around the table in the Magic Box, following Buffy’s story of what she said that she had found when she had returned home from work that evening.

“I can’t believe Spike would…would take Dawn.” Willow spoke in a quiet, stricken voice, shaking her head slowly in dismay.

Anya looked momentarily relieved, opening her mouth to respond, but Willow continued before she could.

“I mean…I *can* believe it. He *is* an evil vampire and all…but I thought that he would know better, for one thing. And with the chains, and the locked door and all…why would he…I don’t know, it just doesn’t make sense.”

Anya closed her mouth again, choosing not to voice her disagreement just yet after all. It seemed that she was always saying, or just about to say, the wrong thing, and she was sure that if Xander gave her dirty looks for doing so under normal circumstances, taking up for Spike now was likely to incur even greater wrath from her tense fiancee.

“It makes perfect sense,” Buffy replied, her voice low and dangerous, her eyes glittering with tears of mingled fear and fury. “He couldn’t have me. He *knew* he couldn’t have me…and being in the same house with me was too much for him. Since he knew I’d never lower myself to his level, he…he took…he…” Buffy’s voice trailed off, as she choked back a sob.

“He took the next best thing,” Xander finished for her, his eyes narrowed in anger and disgust. “He took Dawn.”

“We have to find her,” Buffy sobbed quietly, her head lowered into her hands, her elbows resting on the table. “We have to do something, we have to…”

“I don’t know what we can do, Buffy,” Willow anxiously replied, her hands clenching together in front of her, fidgeting helplessly as she tried to think of some solution. “I already tried a basic locator spell on Dawn, and on Spike…and both times it just went ‘poof’…and in the bad sort of sense of ‘poof’, not the good one. I don’t know what else to…”

“Maybe he’s using some kind of magic to block it,” Buffy suggested, her eyes widening at the idea as she looked up at her friend with rising hope.

“Spike hates magic,” Anya reminded her, frowning as she shook her head. “That can’t be right.”

“He doesn’t like it, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t use it if he thought he had to. If he was going to kidnap Dawn, he’d know we’d come after him,” Xander argued quietly. “He’d know that if he stood a chance of getting away with this, he’d *have* to use magic.”

“What if you’re just not strong enough to get through whatever magic he’s using?” Buffy directed the question at Willow, her eyes serious and questioning.

Willow looked taken aback by the suggestion, the insinuation that her own magical abilities might be lacking. She appeared to be on the verge of voicing her objections, when the Slayer spoke again.

“Call Tara,” Buffy suggested, and the desperate hope in her eyes was enough to drive Willow’s feelings of offense to the back of her mind. “Maybe the two of you together can break through the spell Spike’s using.”

Anya could see Willow’s hesitation, both to admit her own possible failure, and to bring her estranged ex-girlfriend into the situation. But in the end, Willow opted for Buffy’s peace of mind rather than her own, as she rose and walked to the phone. She raised the receiver, hesitating again before dialing Tara’s number with trembling fingers.

She had not spoken Tara in weeks, but she knew the number by heart.

After a few moments, Willow set the receiver down again, without speaking, and turned back toward the others, a worried frown on her face.

“She’s not answering.”

Buffy frowned, too, her eyes thoughtfully downcast. “It’s after four in the morning.”

“She should be at home,” Willow ~~stated~~ said, her eyes widening with fear as she looked at her friend seated at the table. “Buffy, what if something’s happened to her? She used to talk to Spike a lot; she felt sorry for him and stuff. What if he’s done something to Tara, too?”

Buffy’s eyes were filled with anguished sympathy as she met Willow’s gaze. “They *have* been talking a lot lately, Will. I -- I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s too big of a coincidence that Spike and Dawn are gone…and now Tara’s gone, too, on the same night.”

“We should go by her house,” Xander suggested, rising to his feet. “See if she’s okay…or at least if she’s there.”

Buffy stood stiffly and wiped her hands across her eyes as she took a deep breath. “Okay…okay, you’re right. We need to see if Tara’s okay…and then we need to see what we can find on…like, *anti*-cloaking spells? Is there anything like that that you know about, Willow?”

Willow nodded distractedly, her eyes troubled and welling with tears, her mind focused on Tara and her well-being. “Yeah, there’s stuff we could do. Any spell can be broken; it’s just a matter of finding the right counter-spell. But first -- let’s go to Tara’s house. Something’s wrong, Buffy, I know it!”

“Maybe she’s just…asleep,” Anya suggested quietly, with an apologetic little half-shrug for her simple idea. “Maybe the phone didn’t wake her up.”

“No,” Willow whispered as she shook her head, despair in her voice. “Tara’s a very light sleeper.”

“It’s gonna be okay, Willow,” Buffy interrupted, stepping forward on trembling legs to place a shaking yet supportive hand on the redhead’s shoulder. When her friend turned to face her, Buffy forced a brave smile, though her lower lip was quivering slightly. “We’ll find them. We’ll find them before he can do anything to them, I promise…”

Willow’s tears spilled over as she whimpered, “But what if we don’t?”

“We will,” Xander interrupted gently, moving to stand between the two girls, one hand on each of their arms, pulling them closer so that the three were connected, offering their support to each other. “We always have -- and we will.”

Willow hesitated a moment, before nodding decisively, as if determined to accept his reassurance. When Xander headed out the door toward his car, she followed behind him. Buffy stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder, spinning her around to face the Slayer’s fierce, grim eyes, blazing with fury and determination.

“If we don’t, Willow,” she answered the question that Xander had taken from her. “If we don’t…I’ll make sure he doesn’t get away with it. I promise you.”

Willow’s lips turned up slightly in a bitter smile, her eyes momentarily lit with a blinding, enraged power, as she nodded slowly, responding in a whisper before both girls headed out into the night.

“I promise, too, Buffy. I promise, too.”


	43. Chapter 43

“Okay, so…who forgot to send *my* invitation to the office party? I mean, I know I don’t technically work here, but neither do half of these people. Who *are*…half of these people?”

Tara gasped at the sight of the strange creature that walked in the front door of the Hyperion. Spike jumped beside her at the opening of the door, but to her surprise, he calmed at once when he saw that the intruder was not human.

Although she was honestly relieved by the fact that the chip kept Spike from killing humans to feed, Tara still felt a rush of sympathy as she was reminded of how helpless Spike must feel -- his nightmare experiences with Buffy aside -- to know that he was no longer able to defend himself against the creatures that had been his former prey.

The stranger had bright green skin, and eyes that were nearly completely red, with little horns sticking out of his forehead. The brilliant color scheme did not end there; he was wearing a garish leisure suit in bright orange, with a purple button-down shirt and a bright, blue tie beneath it.

Tara glanced anxiously at Angel, and was relieved to see that he did not seem the least bit upset by the presence of the strange demon…who, now that she took time to notice, did not seem exactly hostile. He seemed rather friendly, and strangely at ease with Angel and his group.

“Hey,” Angel spoke casually as he approached the green-skinned creature, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder and leading him further into the room. He looked up at Tara, Spike, and Dawn, each in turn, as he made the necessary introductions. “This is Lorne. He’s a friend. And…” Angel’s eyes widened with dawning inspiration as he looked at his friend again, a slow smile beginning on his lips. “…he just might be able to help us with one of our problems.”

“There are problems?” Lorne raised his eyebrows as he looked at Angel. “Um…if this is a bad time…”

“No, this is the perfect time,” Angel assured him. “I mean…” he shrugged apologetically, with a sideways grin, “…there’s no *party*…unless by party, you mean impending doom and destruction…but, I think you still might wanna stick around for a while.”

Lorne studied his expression for a long moment before relenting with a heavy sigh, dismissing Angel’s words with a wave of his hand as he walked further into the room.

“Party, impending apocalypse…with you people, what’s the difference?”

“There’s no apocalypse,” Wesley assured him.

“That’s good to know.”

“Unless she decides to start one,” Dawn muttered.

“She who?”

“The Slayer who,” Cordy informed Lorne darkly.

The green-skinned demon frowned, his eyes widening with alarm as he shook his head in confusion. “Whoa…the Slayer’s supposed to be one of the good guys…right? So, what are we doing going up against a vampire slayer?”

“She’s crazy,” Fred replied matter-of-factly, her huge dark eyes meeting Lorne’s with a little grimace of apology. “And we’re not exactly going up against her. She’s eventually gonna be coming here, though.”

“Wait…so you’re saying I should stick around while we wait to be attacked by a *psychotic* vampire Slayer?” Lorne had been in the process of sitting down in a seat across from the sofa, but immediately rose to his feet again, visibly alarmed.

“Psychopathic, actually,” Fred corrected in a small voice, her eyes meekly downcast.

“No, we’re not just waiting to be attacked,” Angel argued firmly, stepping closer to his friend as he explained the situation. “We’re *preparing* for her attack. I’ve been thinking about ways to protect ourselves against her, and now that you’re here, I’m wondering… about that sanctuary spell, the one you use at Caritas.”

Lorne’s expression eased with relieved understanding. “Sure, Angel-cakes. I can get a hold of the Muses and have them come over and do the spell for you. How soon do you need them?”

“Would *now* be too soon?”

“Right. Psycho Slayers move quickly, I guess. I’ll get on the horn…so to speak…and see how quickly they can come over here,” Lorne agreed, heading for the phone. “But, um…Angel…” He hesitated, glancing at the others in the room, his piercing gaze lingering on Spike for a moment, though he had been told nothing about the specifics of the situation.

“What is it?”

“I know one thing about the sanctuary spell,” Lorne explained quietly, “And that’s that whatever protection spells you’ve already got up…and I can feel ‘em, so I know you guys have already been doing some serious hocus pocus in here…but whatever spells you’ve already done are going to have to be broken before the Muses can start.”

“How long will it take them?” Angel asked, his expression grim.

“Varies,” Lorne shrugged apologetically. “Hours?”

Still seated at Tara’s side, but able to clearly hear their conversation, Spike flinched, shaking his head in denial as a soft whimper left his throat at the very thought of again experiencing the terrible pain Buffy had inflicted on him earlier that night.

Tara ran her fingers soothingly through the hair at the back of his neck as she pressed his face to her shoulder, her lips brushing his ear as she did her best to be discreet about comforting him for about the twentieth time. “It’s okay, Sweetie. She’s stopped trying to hurt you now, when it stopped working. It’ll only be a little while before we’ll have a better protection spell up, and you’ll be safer, Sweetheart…I promise…”

Clearly, Spike was not at all sure that she was right.

Tara felt her eyes welling with fresh tears, as she realized how miserably her attempts at comfort were failing. She fought off the sense of despair that had followed her from Sunnydale, most often in subjection to her hopes, but always pushing, prodding, attempting to force its way to the foreground of her mind.

*You can’t protect him.*

*You’re weak, pathetic, a victim yourself…how can you possibly defend him against the kind of power Buffy has, especially with Willow at her side…when you couldn’t even defend *yourself* against a single, mortal man?*

“Hey, there.”

Tara looked up, surprised to see Lorne standing in front of them, looking down with a compassionate, sympathetic smile on his face. Tara had always been reasonably good at reading the auras of those around her, and suddenly, any apprehension she had initially felt due to his strange looks evaporated in the warmth of his gentle nature.

Spike was still not looking up, struggling to regain control of his emotions before facing anyone besides her. For Tara to see his tears, his broken state, was one thing. To reveal such vulnerability in front of anyone else was humiliating, and he found that he wanted nothing more than to hide away from the rest of the world.

Forever, if possible.

A light touch on his arm made him jump, and drew his wary eyes up to the face of the green demon now seated beside him. The warm smile on his face began the work of putting the skittish vampire at ease, as Lorne met his eyes and spoke casually.

“Let’s chat, kiddo.”

***********************************

 

“Buffy, I know this has to be so horrible for you,” Xander spoke with sympathy as he gave her a worried glance before returning his eyes to the windshield. “I mean…Dawn’s been difficult lately and all, but to not even know where she is, to know that she’s out there somewhere with that…that monster, and we don’t even know if she’s alive or dead or…or worse…I know it just has to be so hard, and I wish there was something I could do to make this easier on you…”

“Xander!” Willow cut him off from the back seat, alarm in her voice. “You’re *not* making it easier! My God, has Anya been rubbing off on you or what?”

“Actually…” Anya began with a little shrug.

“*Don’t* speak,” Xander instructed, a trapped expression on his face as he looked at his fiancee in the rearview mirror, clearly horrified at the prospect of what she might have been about to say.

Xander was driving, and Buffy was seated in the front passenger seat, to make it easier for her to direct him, should she suddenly see a place that might be a likely location for Spike to hide with his two human prisoners. The three of them would obviously have to wait out the daylight until it was dark enough for a vampire to travel again.

All attempts at location spells had failed, and they had no idea in which direction Spike might have fled with the girls, so they were reduced for the moment to a thorough search of Sunnydale.

All was quiet in the car for a few tense moments, before Willow spoke, her voice softer and haunted with fear, “Tara’s out there, too. And we know…anything could have happened. To both of them. But…but hearing it out loud isn’t helping, Xander.”

“Sorry,” the young man said, his voice subdued and regretful. “I didn’t mean…I’m sorry, guys. It’s just so…”

“I know,” Buffy relieved him by speaking up, her voice quiet and controlled. “Xander, I know you’re just trying to help. It’s okay, really.” She hesitated a moment before turning her eyes on her best friend and waiting until he met her gaze. “Thank you. For trying. It… it means a lot, Xander.”

The relief in his eyes was obvious, as he nodded and returned his eyes to the road.

Buffy wanted to slap him.

He wouldn’t stop talking, and all she wanted was for everyone to just be quiet and let her *think*.

Her wayward slave’s escape attempt was far too successful for her liking. She had been certain that the bond would easily allow her to track him down…not that she had expected to have to do so. She had also expected the severe agony she could cause him to drive him groveling back to her, if only to make the pain stop.

Neither had proven to be the case.

*Magic…he has to be using magic somehow…he hates it, but Tara must have talked him into using it…must have talked him into leaving in the first place. Dawn must have found him, called Tara, and they all took off…*

She fought the impulse to punch the dashboard in front of her, feeling her body tremble with rage as she looked out the window to her right, her teeth clenched with her effort to hide her true emotions from her friends.

*I thought I had him better trained than that…stupid witch…stupid brat Dawn…I’ve gotta find them, and I’ve gotta kill them before they can open their stupid mouths and ruin everything I’m planning…*

“Buffy, it’s okay,” Willow spoke up from behind her, surprising her.

Buffy caught the witch’s gaze in the rearview mirror, a question in her eyes.

“You’re shaking,” Willow shrugged slightly, a little grimace of sympathy passing her lips. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll find them.” She was quiet for a long moment, before she frowned, dismay in her voice. “I don’t understand. Me and Tara -- we’ve always sort of been able to…to sense each other. Like…we can reach out to each other, and find each other if one of us is…lost. We have a connection. Like…like family.”

*Family…*

Buffy’s eyes widened with a sudden inspiration, her lips turning upward in the beginnings of a smile, as she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and began scrolling through the numbers in her address book.

“Buffy, what…?”

“Shhh. I have an idea,” Buffy instructed as she found the number she was looking for, and pressed “Send”.

“Who are you calling?” Willow pressed, frowning with confusion.

“Angel,” Buffy smiled with satisfaction. “If anyone can track the little creep down, he can.” She paused, before adding in a softer tone, “They’re family.”

**********************************

 

Spike stared at Lorne for a moment, before lowering his brow to rest against Tara’s shoulder, drawing in a deep breath to steady his voice before he responded in a tired, frustrated voice.

“Don’t really wanna talk about it, mate.”

“But this isn’t really about what you want, is it, cupcake?” Lorne pointed out, his voice mild and not at all confrontational. “ ‘What you want’ put you through the proverbial blender, dishwasher, and industrial strength meat grinder all at the same time…didn’t she?”

Spike’s jaw worked with anger, but he did not deny Lorne’s words.

“This is about what you need,” the demon continued firmly. “And I’ve got a pretty good idea that what you need is sitting…”

Mercifully, his too-perceptive words broke off in the next moment…at the sound of the ringing of the telephone.

 


	44. Chapter 44

The shrill bleating of the phone only caused Spike to jump again...and then he winced for an entirely different reason, embarrassed by his own persistent reactions of fear.

"It's all right," Tara whispered, knowing that only he could hear her gently teasing words. "It's an office...the phone'll do that sometimes."

"It's okay," Fred spoke up from her corner of the room with a sad, sympathetic smile, and Spike looked up at her in surprise. "I jumped the first time I heard it, too."

They all grew quiet then, as Angel lifted the receiver in his hand. "Angel Investigations," he spoke tersely, passing on the usual tagline, which he never could seem to quite get right.

The voice on the other end of the line was too quiet for the humans in the room to make out, but it was obvious by the look on Angel's face who was calling. Tara knew an instant before the others, when she felt Spike's body go rigid beside her...a moment before he leapt off the sofa, whirling around to face the telephone with wide, terrified eyes.

Clumsily, heedless of anything in his path, he scrambled backward until his back was against the wall, shaking his head emphatically, his breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps as he struggled against his own panic.

Tara could see that he was losing the struggle.

She swiftly moved from the sofa and crossed the room to him, firmly cupping the back of his head and pulling his head down against her shoulder, just as his terror got the better of him and a hoarse, whimpering cry left his throat. Fortunately, she had reached him just in time, and the sound was muffled against her blouse.

"Shhh," Tara urged the shaking vampire in a tense whisper. "Spike, you have to be quiet. Don't let her hear your voice, Sweetheart."

Those words seemed to get through to Spike, cutting through his panic with an even greater fear. He clung tightly to the blonde witch, nodding against her shoulder as she continued to speak soft, soothing words of comfort to him.

"I'm okay," he breathed out against her shoulder, though his tone made it clear that he was not. The words were more an effort to convince himself than anyone else. "I'm okay, I'm okay, love..."

"It's all right...she doesn't know you're here, Spike...she's just asking Angel..."

Spike abruptly raised his head, wide eyes focusing on hers with a fresh terror, his face deathly white as he looked over her shoulder to where Angel stood by the phone. There was a painful desperation that flooded his eyes with his tears, as he shook his head pleadingly in the direction of his sire.

Tara immediately understood.

"Spike," she spoke in a quiet, urgent voice, one gentle hand on his cheek drawing his eyes back to hers and holding on intently. "Spike...*no*. He would not do that to you, do

you hear me? *No*."

Spike nodded automatically, though he did not look convinced. He looked down for a moment, breaking her gaze, before hesitantly looking toward Angel again. The older vampire was looking toward him intently, a look of horror in his eyes.

The Slayer's lengthy, breathless tirade was just coming to an end. "Buffy, I can't hear you, you're breaking up...can you hold on just a second?" he said calmly without taking his eyes off Spike. "A customer just walked in. Let me put you on hold, I'll be right back, okay?"

Frowning at the buttons on the telephone base for a moment before finally locating the one marked "hold" and pressing it, Angel laid the receiver down on the reception desk. That done, he turned and strode swiftly across the room toward his childe and the blonde witch, one strong hand taking Tara by surprise as he touched the side of her neck, leaning in so close that his lips brushed her ear as he spoke...ensuring that she would hear him clearly, but leaving no possible chance that Buffy might as well.

Tara wondered briefly if Angel understood the purpose of the "hold" button.

"Take Spike and Dawn upstairs, and don't come down until I come up to tell you it's okay," he instructed. "Either one of them is likely to freak and say something...make some sound...even by accident...and this has to be handled with care. All right?"

Tara nodded, in complete agreement with his assessment of the situation, and started toward the stairs, pulling Spike with her with one arm and gesturing with the other for Dawn to come to her. But the moment that Tara was no longer supporting him, Spike slid to the floor, and she turned back in alarm, thinking that his fear had overwhelmed him so completely that he had passed out.

But that was not the case at all. Spike was fully conscious.

And kneeling at the feet of his sire.

Angel stared down at him in disbelieving dismay, as Spike pressed his face to the floor at his feet, shaking his head slowly in a pleading way, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs as he clutched at the older vampire's ankles desperately.

In an instant Angel was crouched in front of him, prying his trembling hands from his legs and forcing him up to face him. Spike's shoulders were slumped, as he cried without making a sound, broken and devastated afresh by the mere sound of the Slayer's voice.

"Spike!" Angel hissed. "Spike, stop this! Get up!"

The blond vampire finally met Angel's dark gaze, his eyes wide and terrified and beseeching.

"Please," he whispered, bowing his head again. "Please, sire, please..."

"Spike, listen to me," Angel commanded, barely breathing out the words, yet still infusing them with a note of authority that his childe could not miss. "Look at me."

In his present state of mind, there was no question as to whether or not the younger vampire would obey.

Angel's dark eyes spoke of a sincere tenderness, and a fierce protectiveness, that would not allow any harm to come to his childe, not while he yet had the physical ability to prevent it. His voice was low, barely audible, but firm with honesty and conviction.

"I would never betray you to her, Spike."

"But...you love her..." Spike protested tearfully. "You still love her."

Angel stood up slowly, solemn eyes staring down in dismay at the broken shell his former love had left of his beloved childe.

"No," he stated decisively in a dangerous voice of dark fury. "I really don't."

He reached down to pull Spike to his feet, holding him up for a few moments as he spoke in a firm voice of instruction, "Go upstairs with Tara and Dawn. You'll be safe there, I promise. *Trust me*."

Spike nodded, attempting to be brave despite his overwhelming fear, and started obediently toward the stairs, followed by the girls. As they walked, Dawn hastened her pace a bit, slipping her arm around Spike's waist and leaning her head on his shoulder in a silent display of her sympathy and affection.

Spike automatically returned the half-embrace, lowering his eyes and blinking back tears.

"Lorne," Angel said quietly, drawing the attention of the demon as he turned back toward the phone. "Go with them."

No further explanation was needed, as the green demon had already intended to do just that. This little trio had a boatload of issues that needed resolving...and Dr. Lorne was just the empath for the job.

As the little group disappeared up the stairs, Angel returned to the phone and, after a confused moment, managed to retrieve the call.

"Buffy? I'm back. Sorry, I had a customer. I couldn't hear you before, there was...interference, or something. What's wrong?"

 

**********************************

As they reached the top of the stairs, Tara wrapped her arm around Spike on the other side, giving Dawn's arm a gentle squeeze as the girl looked up at her behind Spike's back, a silent question in her wide blue eyes. Tara's hand rested on the handle of a door directly in front of her, and she glanced down the hall, noting that there were plenty of empty rooms to choose from.

"Give us a second, guys, okay?" she requested, directing her reassuring smile first to Dawn, then to Lorne. "In just a few minutes, you guys can come in here...but could we just have a moment first?"

"Take all the moments you like, Honeybun," Lorne replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, shaking his head as he gave Tara a conspiratorial wink. Putting an arm around the shoulders of a slightly protesting Dawn, he led her toward a different room a little farther down the hall.

"So, Sweetie-Pie...do you sing?"

 

***********************************

"Stupid, bloody, buggering *ponce*!" Spike declared in a frustrated growl as he immediately began pacing the floor of the bedroom where he and Tara were, the same room that she had used to magically take his pain from him.

Tara turned to face him as she closed the bedroom door, a puzzled frown on her face. "Lorne?" she guessed, considering before shrugging her shoulders. "I actually kind of like him. He doesn't seem that bad to me..."

"Not him!" Spike nearly snarled, stopping his frenetic pacing, his piercing blue eyes glittering with his pain. "*Me*!"

Tara's expression softened with understanding, and her eyes welled with sympathetic tears. "Spike," she whispered, shaking her head in denial of his self-disgust. "Spike, no..."

"Look at me!" he demanded, stepping back sharply as she moved toward him to soothe him. "No, just bloody *look at me*, Tara!"

She stood still, silently complying with his desperate request, waiting for him to go on.

Whatever it was he needed to get out, she was determined to let him.

"I was a legend," he reminded her, his voice lower, calmer now, but still trembling uncontrollably. "I...I killed two of her kind. And...and now...I'm...I'm...*nothing*! Nothing but her...her soddin' *slave*..."

"No, Spike, you're more than that," Tara insisted, trying to break in.

"*No I'm not*!" Spike cut her off in a voice that was almost savage, taking a furious step toward her, glaring at her, daring her to disagree. When she was wisely silent, he continued, lower, his voice breaking over the hard conclusion he had reached. "There's nothing of me left in here, Tara...nothing of what I was... She...she took it all...she took it all..."

He shook his head, despairing, his lip curling in disgust at the very sobs that overwhelmed him, as he wrapped his arms protectively around his chest, leaning against the wall beside him for support as he felt his knees weakening.

Before they could fail him...Tara was there.

"Spike," she spoke in a low, firm voice, her hands on his arms as she steadied him. "That's not true. That's not true at all."

"How can you say that?" he demanded tearfully, looking up at her through the tears that streaked his face. "How can you look at me...how can you see me...shaking every time the bloody door opens, and...and cringing like a bloody cur when the phone rings...and say that?" Spike's voice was barely over a whisper by this point, as he held her gaze, his own dark and despairing. "I'm not the Big Bad anymore, Tara."

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes finally dropping as he whispered, "What makes you think there's any part of him left in me?"

A gentle but firm hand touched his chin, insistently tilting his head back up, and Tara waited in patient silence until he reluctantly raised his eyes to hers again. Once she was certain that she had his attention, she smiled warmly into his eyes, and he was awed by the depths of not only affection, but genuine respect and admiration he saw there.

"You're here," Tara stated simply. "That's proof enough."

Spike frowned in confusion. "What...because I didn't fight her, even if she killed me? Because I bowed to her bloody whims, and she let me live?"

There was such a dark, hateful self-reproach in his voice that Tara shuddered.

"No," she replied. "Because you're *here*. And not back in Sunnydale with her." When Spike still looked puzzled and uncertain, she explained, "You didn't have to leave with us, Spike..."

"Yeah," he scoffed dismissively, looking away. "Like anyone would have stayed in that...that bloody basement. I ran. Yeah. I can see how that proves your bloody point about how big and brave I am."

Tara patiently ignored his persistent attempts at self-degradation, going on quietly. "You stayed with her for a long time, Spike. You weren't strong enough to leave. I - I know what that's like."

Spike looked up at her sharply, his piercing gaze alarmed, and a bit too penetrating for her liking.

It was Tara's turn to look away as she continued, "I tried and tried to get you to go...and you wouldn't. Now, I know that basement was...was horrible beyond anything I could comprehend. But...but after the things she said to you...the way she treated you...made you feel about yourself...I would not have been surprised if you had been too afraid to go."

Spike lowered his eyes in shame, swallowing back a sob.

"But you weren't."

Tara's words, full of conviction and admiration, struck him, and he went very still...just listening, as she went on.

"You left her, Spike. You finally, really left her. No matter what the circumstances were. And that's something that only the *real* Spike would do - not the whipped puppy she tried...and *failed*...to turn you into."

"She didn't fail," Spike whispered in a small, shamed voice, his eyes closed. His tears squeezed past his closed lids, despite his best efforts, as he repeated, "She didn't fail, Tara. She...she broke me. I'm...weak. I'm weak, Tara...too weak..."

"You're strong," the blonde witch insisted, running an affectionate hand through his hair, feeling her heart swell with emotion as his brilliant blue eyes opened to lock doubtfully on hers. "And you're only getting stronger."

 

***********************************

 

"Okay, well...let me know if you hear anything? Please?" Buffy's voice was tearful and desperate as she spoke into her cell phone, and waited for the vampire's response.

"Of course, Buffy," Angel replied, his voice sounding concerned. "Of course I will. I only wish I could do more to help. But like I said, any connection I had with Spike has been broken since I got my soul back the last time. I'll be looking for him, though. Have you..." His voice was hesitant, as he asked calmly, "Have you tried a locator spell?"

"Of course," Buffy sighed wearily. "More than one. They're all going kablooey. He's got to have some kind of magic he's using to hide from us."

"But Spike hates magic," Angel pointed out.

Once again, Buffy felt the urge to violence.

"Well, if he was desperate...which he should be, because if he's hurt my sister, I swear, Angel, I'm gonna..." She stopped, pausing to regain control of her emotions before she concluded, "He should be desperate."

"You'll find them, Buffy," Angel assured her. "I'm sure you will."

Buffy hung up the phone a few moments later...and her demeanor changed in an instant.

"Turn around, Xander. We need to go back to the Magic Box."

Willow spoke up from the backseat, sounding confused. "What for?" We've tried every locator spell..."

"Forget locator spells," Buffy snapped, a bit harsher than she had intended in her eagerness to get to her escaped vampire slave. "Will, you need to get whatever you need to pull out the big guns."

"What for?" Xander asked, looking a bit worried.

"I've found them," the Slayer declared, suppressing a smug grin. "They're in L.A."

"What? Did Angel tell you that?" Willow asked, clearly confused, as what she had heard of the conversation did not seem to back up that idea.

"No. He must have Angel under some kind of thrall, along with the rest of them," Buffy declared, her expression becoming grim and dark and troubled. "Angel was trying to cover for him. He said he hasn't seen him, can't trace him...but I know that's not true."

"How?" Anya asked, bewildered. "How do you know?"

Buffy allowed just a hint of her satisfaction to show in a cold smile playing about the edges of her mouth. Her response was cryptic, not revealing much in the way of answers to her puzzled friends.

"Somebody needs to learn how to use a ‘hold' button."


	45. Chapter 45

“*I’ll be your cloud up in the sky…I’ll be your shoulder when you cry…I’ll hear your voice when you call…I’m your angel…*”

Tara softly sang the words, her voice hushed in the stillness of the bedroom, dropping to a hum when she reached a part of the song to which she did not know the words. As shaken as he had been a little while earlier, Spike was now exhausted, and on the verge of sleep. She had instinctively started humming softly a few minutes earlier as she held him, stopping self-consciously when she had realized she was doing it.

But he had asked her to keep singing.

And she could not refuse him.

“Knock, knock.”

The words were not accompanied by the corresponding actions, as a curious green face peeked around the door to the room where Tara and Spike were resting, waiting for Angel to come up and tell them it was all right to come back downstairs.

They were lying on the bed in a purely platonic embrace that seemed to be becoming quite ordinary for the two of them. Their heads were leaned against each other, and Tara’s arms were wrapped firmly around Spike’s slim form, while one of his arms was draped comfortably across her stomach.

His eyes were closed…but he was not asleep.

“Come on in,” Tara smiled at Lorne, who was already on his way in, followed by Dawn. “We’re just resting.”

Her expression became concerned when she saw the distant, distracted expression on Dawn’s face. Her eyes were glittering with moisture, and she did not look at either Tara or Spike as she walked into the room and took a seat in a chair beside the bed, staring at the wall, lost in her own thoughts.

“Dawnie?”

The girl looked up at Tara, a dreamy expression in her eyes as she whispered, “Yes?”

“Dawnie, are you okay?” Tara frowned, uncertain.

Dawn did not seem upset, exactly. She was smiling, and her eyes were shining with a light of hope that had been painfully absent from her face for the past few weeks. But there were tears in her eyes, and she seemed to be pondering deep, heavy things, perhaps things that were *too* heavy for her, given all that she was already going through.

“I’m fine,” Dawn assured her with a warm smile, though it was a smile through tears. “I just…I just, um…I think I need to be alone for a little while,” she decided with a slow nod, rising from the chair and heading toward the door. “I’m going to go back into the other room, and…and lie down, I think…”

At the slow, hazy sound of her voice, Spike finally looked up, concern in his eyes. “Niblet? What’s wrong? Why…?”

Dawn did not appear to hear him as she walked out the door and closed it quietly behind her.

“Dawnie…” Tara called after her, feeling a faint sense of alarm, though she wasn’t sure why.

“She’s okay, pumpkin,” Lorne interrupted with a light touch on the blonde witch’s arm, stopping her when she thought to rise from the bed and go after the girl. “I promise. We were just…talking, and…well, I guess I gave her a lot to think about.”

Tara opened her mouth to reply, a confused frown on her face, but before she could speak, a low growl rose from her side, as Spike sat up, eyes flashing golden as he glared at the green-skinned demon now sitting on the edge of the bed.

“If you touched her…”

“Whoa, whoa…” Lorne protested, eyes widening as he held out both hands in front of him in a halting gesture. “Slow down, Mr. White Knight! I didn’t do anything to her, I promise! She really is fine! Just let me explain before you bring out the bumpies, ‘kay?”

Spike’s menacing growl receded to a low rumble under his unnecessary breath, as he grudgingly leaned back against Tara again, watching Lorne suspiciously.

“Okay…see…I’m what you might call an empath. I can…read people. Their auras, their…emotions…” Lorne explained.

Spike rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to express skepticism, his natural skepticism that tended to go along with anything related to magic -- but before he could speak, Tara’s face broke into a delighted smile.

“You are?” she exulted. “Me too!”

“You are?” Spike echoed, though his question was directed at Tara. He seemed bewildered by the whole concept. “You can…read people’s minds and such?”

“Not their minds,” Tara shrugged. “That would be…far too invasive. But…I *can* pick up on certain aspects of their emotions, for example…like, if someone’s being honest or not…or if they’re in a…a state of turmoil…the kind of stuff you can read in someone’s aura, you know…”

“No,” Spike drawled. “I really don’t.”

“Is that how it is for you?” Tara asked Lorne, an eager smile on her face. She was obviously delighted to find what she clearly perceived to be a kindred spirit, someone who shared her gift.

Spike was not particularly interested in sharing at the moment.

“I’m sure it’s not the same, exactly,” he interjected. “Everyone’s different…some more than others…”

“Yeah,” Lorne nodded. “That’s pretty much how I am, too, Honeybun. I can pick up on very basic, simple stuff just by being around a person. But it can get a little more…specific. I can read a bit more than just basic feelings and all. Under the right circumstances, I can sometimes even tell someone their future.”

“Seems bloody invasive to me,” Spike muttered.

Tara glanced at him with a puzzled frown, uncertain as to what was bringing about his defensive, nearly hostile mood. When he pointedly did not look at her, she shrugged inwardly and returned her attention to Lorne…completely unaware that she was only contributing to Spike’s negative feelings by doing so.

“Oh, no,” Lorne hurried to assure both of them, “I don’t read people’s minds or anything like that unless they ask me to. And even then, there are special…procedures…that have to be done, or I can’t see anything.” He shrugged.

“What special procedures? Like a spell?” Tara asked, clearly highly intrigued.

“Bloody dangerous, magic,” Spike muttered. “Casting spells all willy nilly…”

“No…the person who wants me to read their future…tell them what they should do, that sort of thing…well…they have to sing,” Lorne explained.

Tara and Spike both stared at him, caught quite off guard by that information.

After a moment, understanding came to Tara, and she looked up at Lorne again with a speculative smile.

“Did Dawn sing for you?” she asked, but her knowing tone made it clear that she already knew the answer.

Lorne returned her smile as he answered simply, “Yes.”

“And you told her her future? Is that what she’s all starry-eyed about?” Spike frowned, glancing toward the door where he had last seen his beloved Niblet, his worry evident on his face.

“Yes.”

“Why was she crying? Is it bad?”

“There’s a little bit of bad in everybody’s future,” Lorne answered evasively, though he held Spike’s gaze without hesitation. “That’s just the nature of the beast, Sweetie-Pie. But that’s not why she was crying. Like I said…she’s just got a lot to think about.”

All three of them were quiet for a long moment as Tara and Spike processed his words, each thinking their own private thoughts about what little Dawn’s future might hold, while Lorne just sat there and let them think it through.

“Could you read my future?” Spike asked quietly, his voice and words startling Tara out of her stillness, as she turned wide, anxious eyes on him. “If you wanted to?”

“If *you* wanted me to,” Lorne amended, his expression suddenly serious as he studied the face of the blond vampire. “The thing is…I don’t choose what I see. It seems to be different every time. I don’t always see the future…sometimes I just see…I don’t know…something about someone’s nature, that isn’t just automatically obvious…or maybe some secret they’re hiding, even from themselves.”

He took a deep breath, shaking his head as if at a loss, before looking at Spike and concluding, “I guess what I’m trying to tell you is…there’s no guarantees, Muffin. I can tell you what I see…but I can’t guarantee that it’ll be your future. And even if I do see your future…I can’t guarantee something you do won’t change it at some point down the road. You see?”

Spike nodded slowly, thoughtfully, looking away as he considered. As he thought, he sat up slowly, pulling away from Tara a bit as he lowered his hand to grasp hers between them.

“You might be able to tell me…what my chances are of actually coming through this?” he finally asked, his voice low and subdued, and Tara could feel the shame that always filled his voice when he spoke of Buffy and what she had done to him emanating off him with the words. “If…if I’m gonna survive this?”

Lorne frowned, troubled by Spike’s words. “Maybe,” he conceded quietly. “Maybe not. I could tell you something, I’m sure…but I can’t guarantee if it’ll be something you’ll want to hear.”

Spike considered that for a moment, before opening his mouth, apparently to reply.

What came out instead was a sweet, simple and heartbreaking song, unexpected coming from Spike‘s lips, in a deep, rich voice that startled Tara, and stirred something deep within her to life at the sheer, anguished beauty of it.

“*I can’t make you love me, if you don’t…You can’t make your heart feel something it won’t…here in the dark, in these lonely hours…I will lay down my heart and I’ll feel the power…but you won’t, no you won’t…‘cause I can’t make you love me…if you don’t…*”

His voice trailed off at the end of the chorus, and he swallowed hard, the sound audible even to the others in the heavy silence that had fallen over the room. He glanced uncertainly at Tara, feeling vulnerable and exposed in the wake of his brief performance, and was dismayed to see that her face was streaked with tears.

Lorne was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he said quietly, “Okay, Muffin. Time for your consultation with your own personal psychic. It can be, um…a private consultation, if you’d like…”

Spike cleared his throat, struggling to bring his emotions back under control, before finally replying in a low, hoarse voice, “Tara’s m-my closest friend, mate. Anything you want to tell me…y-you can say in front of Tara…”

“Let me rephrase that,” Lorne stated flatly. “You are going to want this to be a private conversation, Spike. Trust me.”

Spike frowned, and began to protest, but suddenly stopped when something in the empath’s expression made him understand what he was talking about.

“All right.” His voice was calm, even, as he shrugged and remarked, “S’pose I’ll take your word for it, then.” He glanced up at Tara reluctantly, his doubt showing momentarily in his eyes at the thought of sending her away. For the past two days, he had been with her almost constantly, and he felt infinitely safer when she was there. “Can you…just for a few minutes, love?”

“Of course,” Tara smiled, her hand rising to his cheek in a reassuring caress, before she rose from the bed and started toward the door. “I’ll just go…see if Dawn wants to talk.”

Once the door was closed behind her, Spike looked up at Lorne once more, his expression apprehensive. “So what’d you see rattling around in my head, then, mate? What’s going to happen?”

“Well, for starters, you’re gonna lose the best thing that’s ever happened to you if you don’t stop doing things like referring to her as your ‘best friend’ and singing sappy love songs about another woman,” Lorne bluntly informed him.

Spike’s eyes widened in a trapped expression, as he shook his head in the beginnings of denial.

“Empath, remember?” Lorne cut him off, tapping his own forehead. “Kinda the point? Also meaning…it’s no good denying it. I saw it, Muffin.”

“Saw what?” Spike demanded, his voice taking on a sullen edge as he crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes averted.

Lorne shook his head. “It’s quite a muddle you’ve got up there, Cupcake. Buffy, Tara, Tara, Buffy…it’s all confused…but the answer should be pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

“ ‘S not obvious at all,” Spike muttered.

“No? Let’s see…psychopathic, abusive bitch from hell…or sweet, loving, generous, Mother-Theresa-without-the-vow-of-celibacy type? Hmmm. Yeah, I see your point. Tough call.”

“You don’t understand,” Spike ground out through angrily clenched teeth, still without looking at him. “Tara’s a…”

“Tara’s not sure *what* she is right now, Spike. And do you know who’s responsible for that?”

Spike’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Lost me there, mate…what…?”

“Never mind,” Lorne shook his head with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You don’t need to know that, anyway. Not yet. But Spike…things aren’t always what they seem. The bottom line…and you know this already…is that Tara loves you…” Before Spike could find the words to object, Lorne held up a hand to stop him and went on, “There are all kinds of love, Spike…and trust me, she does. But you need to quit waiting on love that doesn’t exist at all…from someone who’s not capable of loving…and just accept it.”

“Look, this isn’t why I asked you to…”

“Yeah, yeah, your future…got it,” Lorne sighed. “Just trying to help.” He was quiet for a moment before admitting, “As far as your future…I can’t really tell you much, except…well, it’s up to you, Spike.”

“Oh, *that’s* helpful.”

“It is…if you let it be,” Lorne insisted, giving the vampire a pointed look. “It’s still up in the air…how it’s all gonna turn out. It kind of depends…”

“On what?” Spike snapped, becoming impatient with Lorne’s cryptic answers.

When the empath replied, his own tone was every bit as sharp as Spike’s.

“On whether or not you choose to just lie back and let her win.”

***********************************

 

A few minutes later, Lorne knocked on the door of the room where he and Dawn had had their previous conversation, where the girl had said she was returning, and was answered with a muffled “Just a minute,” from the other side.

A moment later, Tara stepped out the door, closing it behind her. There was a soft, tearful smile on her face as she met his eyes with warmth and affection.

“We’re finished in there,” Lorne informed her, his flat tone not revealing anything as to how the conversation had gone. “But…I need to talk to *you*, Honey.”

“About what?” Tara frowned, letting out a surprised laugh.

Lorne did not smile, as he held her gaze, his red eyes solemn and intent on hers.

“About what I heard in the little song you were singing, right before I knocked on your door.”


	46. Chapter 46

“I don’t know…I don’t want to make things any harder on him…give him any more to w-worry about…”

Tara winced at her own stutter, which seemed to have returned to the forefront simply through the conversation that she and the empathic green demon had just had, about her family, her past…and her need to share it with her suffering friend.

“It won’t, trust me,” Lorne assured her. “Look, Sweetie Pie, what Spike needs right now more than anything else is to know that he’s not alone…that someone understands what he’s going through, and that he’s not worthless and dirty and bad and all the other things that Buffy’s made him think he is, because of the things she *did* to him.”

“That’s how *I* felt,” Tara admitted softly, not meeting his eyes.

“Exactly.”

She reluctantly looked up at him, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. Once he was sure that he had her attention, Lorne smiled gently. “And we both know he doesn’t think that about *you*. If what happened to you wasn’t *your* fault – and it wasn’t -- then what happened to him isn’t his fault, either. Hearing about it from someone else…knowing that he’s not the only one who’s ever felt like he feels right now…can only help, Sugar Lump. Why do you think they have so many support groups out there for every ailment under the sun? Because it’s healing to know that someone else has been there.”

Tara nodded slowly, feeling a nervous fluttering in her stomach at the outward agreement to do what she had always thought of as the impossible…to tell her own dark secret, the story of her painful past. She had vowed never to reveal it, but she thought that maybe she could, if she had to – for Spike’s sake.

Sensing that there was no need for any further words, Lorne stepped silently out of her way, giving her a knowing smile after glancing at the closed door to the room where Spike was…alone, for the moment.

Not for long.

Steeling herself for what she knew that she had to do, Tara slowly opened the door…and then hesitated, drawing back her hand. She considered for a moment, before turning decidedly away from the door and making her way down the stairs.

 

********************************

Spike whirled around at the sound of the door sliding open, turning from where he stood by the window, gazing out into the gathering night, to face the imagined threat. Before his fears even had time to fully form, he heard a familiar voice that filled him with a sense of warm relief.

“It’s j-just me, Spike. Don’t worry. And -- and I’ve got blood for you.”

Spike felt a wave of tender affection for the young woman, as he realized that she had anticipated his fear without seeing it, and made a point of announcing her presence so as not to alarm him. There was a bit of embarrassment at the thought that she had found it necessary, but a greater sense of safety and reassurance, that she knew so completely what he needed and when.

Well…almost completely.

There were some things that she could never know…no matter what the Jolly Green Empath thought he should do.

“It might not be enough, after…after going so long without…but Angel said to start slow. He said this much was good for now, and you could have some more later,” Tara explained as she crossed the room and moved around the bed to sit down on the edge of it, facing him as she held out a large, steaming thermal mug. After she was seated and gazing at him intently, she asked in a quiet voice of concern, “How are you doing?”

Spike shrugged noncommittally, not quite looking at her as he took it. In the wake of his far-too-revealing conversation with Lorne, combined with the revelation that Tara and Lorne shared some abilities, Spike had the uncomfortable feeling that his true emotions might be as obvious to Tara as they were to the green demon.

On some level, he knew that was not true. Her behavior toward him alone led him to believe that it was not true.

Still…he could not quite bring himself to meet her eyes.

“Been better,” he replied flatly before raising the mug to his lips and draining it quickly.

At the moment, he felt physically sick at the prospect of the difficult conversation Lorne had recommended, whether he actually intended to *have* that conversation or not. At any rate, his appetite was weakened, despite the fact that this was the first blood he had had since escaping Buffy’s basement. As he set the mug down on the nightstand, however, he had to admit that he felt quite a bit better already.

After a moment he added quietly, “Been worse, too, I s’pose. Recently. So in that light…can’t really soddin’ complain, can I?”

He winced inwardly at the bitter note in his own voice, before reminding himself that if anyone deserved to be bitter...

“Of course you can,” Tara argued, sounding indignant and defensive for him, in spite of the fact that he was the one who had said the words to which she was taking offense. “Spike, you have every right to feel the way you do. It’s been, what? Two days? Two days, since you were chained up in that basement, and…and…Spike, you have every right to feel the way you do about it!”

“Not doin’ anyone any bloody good, though, is it?” he pointed out softly, turning slightly away from her, his expression unreadable. “Need to just bloody well get over it. Put it behind me, yeah? Just – just forget it.”

“You’ll never forget it, Spike.”

Tara ’s voice was infinitely gentle, compassionate...and all the more painful for it. Spike felt his eyes well with tears, as his mind acknowledged the fact that she was right…and he simply couldn’t bear knowing it.

“I have to,” he whispered, and the ache in his heart was clearly audible in his voice.

As he spoke, he was surprised to feel the gentle warmth of Tara ’s arms sliding around him from behind. He had not heard or sensed her movement, but she was there, supporting him as he leaned gratefully back into her embrace, silent sobs rising and spilling out from his aching throat.

“Please…please, I have to,” he repeated, desperation in his voice, a familiar desperation that tore at Tara ’s heart. “Don’t tell me I can’t, because I *have* to, Tara …I can’t…I can’t stand this…it has to get easier…”

“It *will* get easier.”

As much as he had longed to hear the words, they felt like a lie to his shattered, devastated spirit.

“You can say that,” he whispered, shaking his head as tears coursed down his face. “But how the bloody hell do you know, Tara ? How do you *know*?”

“I just do.”

They were both silent for a long moment, before the words registered fully with the vampire, and he tried to pull free of her embrace, to turn and face her, a worried expression of alarm forming on his face. Tara held him firm, refusing to allow him to face her just yet, and he froze, his expression intent, though he was not able to look at her.

“Don’t,” Tara whispered, a pleading sound in her voice. “Spike, please don’t…”

“Tara…what do you mean?” Spike persisted, his strong but gentle hands closing on hers in front of him, his head turned in her direction, though his back was to her. “Tara …you have to tell me…did someone…they didn’t…?”

“Yes.”

Spike turned to face her, and this time, Tara made no attempt to stop him. It was her turn to avert her gaze, as his piercing blue eyes sought hers anxiously, stunned dismay in his eyes.

“Who hurt you?” he demanded, and his voice was surprisingly low and dangerous. “Who did it, Tara? Tell me.”

Tara’s feelings were in utter turmoil, her stomach sick and queasy at the thought of making the revelation she was about to, but her heart feeling strangely warmed by the fiercely protective tone of Spike’s voice.

*Maybe this is what he needs, to make him feel more like himself…the chance to be protective of *you* for a change…*

“*Tara*,” Spike pressed her urgently, reaching out to take her hands in his, his head lowered in an attempt to catch her eyes. “Tara, please…talk to me, love.”

Tara finally raised her eyes to his, a sad smile on her lips, her eyes wet with tears. “I…I want to…I really do…but it isn’t easy, Spike.” She backed toward the bed, sitting down again, pulling Spike with her as she moved. “I just…I just need for you to know that when I say I understand…I *do* understand.”

Spike was slowly shaking his head in an instinctive gesture of denial, one he was not even aware of making. His expression was stricken, horrified at the thought that Tara -- sweet, gentle Tara -- had experienced things that in any way resembled what he had been through.

“Tara…tell me what happened…please.” Spike hesitated, searching her eyes for the answer she was so reluctant to provide. “Who…who hurt you?”

Tara was silent for a long moment, her eyes focused on the comforter at which she was nervously picking. She opened her mouth to respond…and her nerve failed her. She tried again. The third time, she was successful.

“Do you r-remember…my brother Donnie?”

“Yes.”

The angry growl that underscored the word surprised Tara, and she looked up sharply to meet Spike’s eyes…aware a moment too late of just how much was revealed in her open, vulnerable gaze. Spike’s expression softened with compassion at the pain in her eyes, and he sat down beside her, instinctively wrapping an arm around her shoulders, still clasping one of her hands in her lap.

Tara stared down at their joined hands, absently stroking the back of his with her thumb as she struggled to find the strength to go on.

“It s-started when I was…seven. He…he came into my room one night.” Tara was quiet for a moment, a soft, ironic smile rising to her lips as she went on. “I used to…to go climb in bed with him, when I was…really little. I was always a…a cuddler. So…so the first time, I…I thought, ‘Donnie must want to cuddle me’. I felt…special. Until…until he…”

Tara’s voice trailed off, and she shook her head, a silent indication that she could not go on.

“Oh, Tara…Tara, love, it’s all right,” Spike murmured, his voice thick with tears. “You can tell me, love.”

“He…he told me not to tell. He said…if I did…he’d…he’d kill me. And…and that then, he’d just have to…to find what he needed somewhere else. We lived next door to my aunt and uncle, and my cousins. They spent the night…all the time. I knew what he meant. He was saying that if I…if I wouldn’t let him…he’d…he’d turn to my cousin, Beth. And I couldn’t…couldn’t let that happen, you know? He said they’d never believe me…and I was sure that they wouldn’t…”

“You couldn’t have known any better, love,” Spike assured her. “You must ’ave been so confused…so…intimidated. Pet…it wasn’t your fault.”

“It still…bothers me. I can’t…can’t seem to forget it,” Tara confessed quietly. “I mean…it’s not as bad as it was…I’ve…healed, some…but…it’s not really over. Not yet.” She paused before admitting, “I’m not really sure it ever will be.”

“Tara…” Spike’s voice was trembling with emotion, his eyes welling with tears of affectionate admiration, as he raised a shaking hand to gently caress her cheek, lifting her face to meet his eyes. “…Tara, love…you’re so bloody strong…takes a bit to get past that sort of thing…and you’ve come so far, you’d never…you’d never know…”

“So are you.”

Spike’s eyes momentarily widened, and he abruptly removed his hand, his gaze falling to his lap. “I…I don’t know…”

“It wasn’t your fault, either, Sweetie,” Tara persisted, reaching out to touch his arm, trying to draw his attention back to her. “She had you every bit as intimidated as Donnie had me. And it’s okay if it takes a while…a good, *long* while…to get past that, Spike.”

“I should have…I should have said something…should have left,” Spike whispered, shaking his head, despair in his voice.

“So…it wasn’t my fault…but it *was* yours?” Tara concluded in a pointed voice, smiling when Spike grudgingly raised his eyes to hers again.

His expression was doubtful, as he opened his mouth to respond, and then frowned when he found himself at a loss. Finally he let out a short, bitter laugh, as he ruefully admitted, “Seems so. Know it doesn’t make any bloody sense…but it’s so…so soddin’ hard to…to believe…it’s so hard to get past it, love…”

“I know it is,” Tara agreed, reaching out to tilt his head up to face her. “I know…and now you *know* that I know. But we *will* get through it, Spike. I know it feels like…like no one understands. But now you know that…someone does. *I* do. And we will get through this. Together.”

Spike lost the struggle to avoid meeting her eyes, gradually losing himself in her intent, passionate gaze, as her hand drifted from his face upward toward his hair, stroking through it to the ends, pulling gently as her eyes began to drift from his eyes to his trembling lips, and then back again.

The slight slip was not missed by the vampire, who was acutely aware of the subtle shift in the atmosphere between them, and felt a vague sense of alarm when he realized that he was leaning closer to her, his head turning into her touch.

“Tara,” he whispered, closing his eyes as his lips touched her wrist, and without stopping to think of what he was doing, caressing the sensitive skin with his mouth. “Tara, love…”

The soft gasp that left Tara’s lips at the rather innocent contact was more encouraging than shocked, and Spike raised his own hand to hold her wrist, pressing a series of light, tender kisses from her wrist, up her arm.

“Spike…oh, Spike…” Tara whispered, and when he looked up at her without lifting his lips from her arm, Spike saw that her eyes were closed, her breath shortening, as her hand that was still locked in his twisted slightly, clutching his hand tighter before releasing it and sliding her hand down to rest at his side.

“Tara,” Spike spoke in a low, husky voice, raising his lips from her arm, his head bowed with his fear to see what her reaction would be. “Tara, love, I know I’m not…not what you want…I know I’m not hardly good enough…but Tara…Tara, I…”

His words suddenly dropped off as her hand in his hair became firm, and her knowing eyes locked with his as she shook her head slowly. Then, she gently pulled his head in closer to hers, leaning toward him to press her lips firmly to his, her fingers kneading his scalp as her other hand clutched awkwardly at his belt, pulling slightly, a sign of her conflicting desires both to give him as much space as he needed, not to push him…and to have him as close as was physically possible.

Spike was vaguely aware in some part of his mind that was not utterly consumed with the kiss that if anyone else had been so forceful with him -- anyone but Tara -- it would have been rather alarming. But he trusted Tara completely, and with the realization that that was really so, Spike began to allow himself to surrender to the kiss, to barely begin to believe that perhaps she wanted him like he wanted her…

“Knock, knock.”

Instantly, the vampire and the witch flew apart, and Lorne opened the door to find Tara anxiously smoothing her skirt, her gaze focused on her lap, and Spike standing a few yards from her, his arms crossed over his chest as he cleared his throat loudly.

“Hey, guys…didn’t mean to interrupt, but Angel-cakes wanted me to come up and let you guys know that the Muses are almost done with the sanctuary spell.”

Tara nodded, trying to steady her breathing as she gave him a smile that was a little too bright.

“Good…good,” Spike replied hurriedly, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out shakily. “That’s…good.”

“Another twenty minutes, and we’ll be home free.” Lorne grinned as he glanced knowingly between them and added slyly, “Though something tells me you two wouldn’t need quite that long to get…er…home.” Without waiting for a response, he stepped back out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Tara and Spike exchanged a glance that started off awkward…and faded into a pair of knowing smiles, which gradually shifted into the beginnings of hysterical laughter.

But only the beginnings.

Moments after he had closed it, Lorne opened the door again…and the teasing humor in his expression had been replaced with fear. Spike felt his stomach drop at the look on the green-skinned demon’s face, and knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“Um…maybe you guys should stay up here for a little while…”

“Why?” Spike demanded, his voice trembling dangerously with an edge of barely restrained terror.

Tara rose from the bed and went swiftly to his side, clutching his hand in hers firmly, supportively, as she faced Lorne and waited for his response.

“It’s just…give the Muses time to finish the spell before you…you make yourselves vulnerable, you know?” Lorne hedged. “Just stay in here where it’s…”

“Vulnerable to what?” Spike insisted in the same tone.

“Um…SugarPie…”

“She’s here…isn’t she?”

Lorne studied the vampire’s expression for a long moment, before deciding that there was no way he could hide the truth from him.

“Yes,” he admitted. “She’s here.”


	47. Chapter 47

As Lorne disappeared up the stairs to tell Tara and Spike the good news about the sanctuary spell, Angel turned toward his friends, a look of cautious satisfaction on his face.

“Well, that’s that. As soon as they’re finished, we can just focus on figuring out what’s happened to make Buffy like this, and how to fix it…and in the meantime, Spike and the others will be safe here.”

“Provided she doesn’t show up in the next twenty minutes,” Wesley put in dryly.

“Great, Wes,” Gunn muttered, shaking his head. “That’s just great. You know what’s going to happen now, right?”

Cordelia dismissed his warning with a careless wave of her hand and a soft huffing sound. “Not possible. Sunnydale’s eight hours from here. There’s no way she could get here that fast…assuming she was even headed here in the first place…which she’s not. You said she believed you, right? That you hadn’t heard from Spike?”

Angel nodded. “I was totally convincing. She completely bought it…”

“Please! You were an evil, sadistic monster at times…but you were *never* a good liar, Angel.”

The group gathered in the lobby of the hotel looked up in startled dismay as the Slayer and her friends instantly materialized in the center of the room, Buffy smiling coldly at her former lover.

And then, for a few brief seconds, everyone seemed to be speaking at once.

“Just had to say it, didn’t you, Wes?”

“Buffy!” Angel gasped in disbelief. “How…I was just talking to you a few minutes ago, and you were in Sunnydale…how did you…?”

“This way, ladies…we’ll be right with you to discuss your…your case…”

Fred’s voice was a bit louder, a bit brighter, than it should have been had she really been speaking to new clients, as she ushered the Muses, who were still chanting quietly, into Angel’s office and closed the door firmly behind them, leaning against it for a moment as she turned an almost manic smile on each person in the room in turn.

“Helps to have a powerful witch on your side,” the Slayer smirked in response to Angel’s shock, nodding toward a weary, exhausted Willow, barely standing beside her, struggling to catch her breath from the obvious effort of performing such a feat of teleportation. “But then…you wouldn’t know anything about that…would you?”

“No, of course not!” Fred replied too quickly, her words punctuated by a nearly hysterical giggle. “Of course we don’t know anything about any witches, how would we know anything about anything like that? Nope…not a clue what it’s like to be around witches…haven’t been anywhere near a witch in…”

“Fred.”

“Shutting up.”

The Slayer just smirked in amusement, one eyebrow raised as she glanced between the unfamiliar but obviously terrified little brunette, and the much more familiar girl who had silenced her with a single sharply spoken word. She acknowledged her with a curt nod, receiving just as friendly a greeting in response.

“Cordelia.”

“Buffy.”

“I see your bullying skills haven’t suffered for your career in fighting the good fight.”

“I hear yours have improved.”

“And just who did you hear that from, Cordelia?” Buffy’s eyes narrowed as she took a step toward her former rival.

The brunette did not seem at all intimidated, matching her step as she replied, “None of your business, *Buffy*.”

“Can we just…*skip* the personality portion of the Miss SoCal competition for now?” Lorne remarked, rolling his eyes as he made his way down the stairs, glancing between Cordelia and Buffy with a nervous smile as the attention of the Sunnydale group turned to him. “ ‘Cause, wow…you’re so both going to lose. Anyway…so good of you guys to drop in like this…uninvited, and unexpected, and all…Can we…help you with anything?”

Buffy’s eyes turned sharply on the green-skinned demon, with a cold intensity that made him feel a sick quivering sensation in the pit of his stomach. In that moment, he was reminded with flawless clarity of just why it was that most of his kind so feared this slender girl now staring at him with such fierce assurance. The look she gave him was that of a predator toward its prey, and Lorne suddenly found himself regretting speaking up at all.

*Could have kept my mouth shut and let Angel-cakes handle this one…oh, shoot…too late now…*

The Slayer was already crossing the room, stalking toward him with the lethal stealth of a jungle cat, her eyes narrowed in undeniable menace. Seconds after the words had left his mouth, Lorne found himself bent halfway over the banister at the base of the stairs, the Slayer’s hand gripping his throat.

“And just who do you think *you* are?” she demanded coolly, her demeanor still calm and unperturbed…still smiling.

“Hey! Buffy, back off!” Angel demanded indignantly, quickly crossing the room to her. “He didn’t…”

“*You* back off!” Buffy snarled, and Lorne winced as her grip on his throat tightened with the force of her response. Without looking up at the brunette vampire, the Slayer went on, “Angel, you *know* I can take you down and if you come any closer I will…after taking out *this* thing…”

“*Buffy*!” This time it was Willow who spoke up in protest, alarm in her voice. “Buffy, I know him! He’s okay, I promise!”

“Looks slayable to me,” Buffy sneered, her cold smile still focused on Lorne.

“Buffy…Buffy, just relax, okay?” Xander said in a quiet, slightly trembling voice, taking a cautious step toward her with one hand held out in a warning gesture. “I think we all just need to calm down for a few minutes and figure out…”

“She’s the one who needs to calm down, instead of walking in here, into somebody else’s home and place of business, and threatening people just because she feels like it!” Cordelia snapped at her ex, as she also took a frustrated, hesitating step toward the tense tableau at the base of the stairs, clearly wanting to do something to stop it, but painfully aware that she didn’t stand a moment’s chance against the Slayer’s power . “She can’t just *do* this kind of thing just because she’s the Slayer and she thinks she can get away with it!”

“She’s worried about her sister, okay?” Xander shot back angrily. “Spike took Dawn! And that…that whatever he is…she’s the Slayer, Cordy, what do you expect? See demon, kill demon…that’s kind of part of the package, you know?”

Lorne had frozen completely the moment Buffy had grabbed him, wise enough to know that he could not overpower her, and that any abrupt movements could be enough to set the Slayer off, and cost him his life. He watched her closely, and saw the change in her expression as she heard the building argument between her friends and Angel’s crew. He saw the calculating look in her eyes as her lower lip began to tremble, and she forced tears to come, before looking over her shoulder at Angel, her shoulders heaving with feigned sobs.

“I don’t care if he’s good or bad! I don’t care what you’ve meant to me, Angel! Spike took my sister! And if *anyone* tries to stand in the way of my getting her back, I don‘t care *who* they are, I will *take them apart*!” the Slayer cried out in a hoarse, tearful voice that was impressively convincing.

To anyone not an empath.

“Okay…okay, Buffy,” Angel turned his attention on her fully, and his own expression was unreadable. “I understand, okay? I know you just want to find Dawn…I understand that…but I don’t know why you would think that she’s here, or that any of us had anything to do with whatever happened to her. Buffy…I *love* you…you know that! I’ll do *anything* I can to help you…but you have to calm down.” He paused, before adding softly, “You have to let my friend go.”

Lorne thought that Angel was a much better liar than Buffy had given him credit for.

The other possible explanation for the sincerity, the concern in his voice, did not even bear thinking about.

After a tense, silent moment during which no one dared to move, Lorne felt the Slayer’s powerful grip easing, and she released him, allowing him to stand up again, though he immediately doubled over, clutching his aching throat and gasping for breath. He looked warily up at her, and felt nothing but disgust for the tears that streaked her face as she looked at Angel, a look of hurt and betrayal on her face as she shook her head slowly.

“Angel…Angel, I know this isn’t your fault…I know you wouldn’t willingly do anything to hurt me…or Dawnie…” she said in a low, hoarse voice. “But…but I heard you…on the phone. I know they’re here, somewhere. I know you’re protecting him…but I know you wouldn’t be, if he wasn’t…controlling you, somehow…”

Angel stared at her for a long moment, grimacing at her revelation of how his own technological ineptitude had given his childe away, before letting out a harsh burst of disbelieving laughter as her last words registered fully with him. “Con…*controlling* me?” he echoed. “Buffy, Spike’s not controlling me! How would he? I’m his *sire*, for…”

“Thrall.” Buffy shrugged bleakly. “A spell? I don’t know…I just know that he took my sister…and he must be doing something to you to force you to help him.”

“Spike doesn’t have a thrall,” Angel informed her flatly. “Never had the focus or concentration to develop one. And he hates magic. Hates it. He would never use it, Buffy.”

“Unless he knew he had no other choice.”

Her lies held no interest for the green empath demon, who discreetly met Fred’s eyes, a question in his own. The little brunette was still standing between Buffy and Angel’s office, where the Muses were hopefully nearing the completion of the sanctuary spell. Her little grimace of anxious uncertainty was not terribly reassuring; all Lorne could do was hope that they could stall the Slayer long enough to allow them to finish it.

Once the spell was in place, the sadistic little wench could rant all she wanted; she would not be able to do any of them any harm.

“Buffy…”

“Angel, I don’t know what he’s told you…what he’s made Tara and Dawn tell you…but he took them, against their will.” The Slayer’s voice hardened again with those words, and Lorne could hear the deadly quality to it as she continued with false apology, “And I really don’t want to have to hurt anyone…but I am *going* to find them. If I have to search every room in this hotel, and go through every last one of you to do it.”

There was total silence for a few moments, before Angel drew in a deep, unnecessary breath and stepped directly into her path. His expression was resigned, yet determined, as he met her eyes solemnly.

“Then I guess you’ll have to start with me.”

*****************************

 

“Tara…bloody hell…Tara, she’s here…she’s here, she’s gonna…”

“*Spike*. *Stop*.”

The shaking blond vampire froze at the firm, authoritative sound of Tara’s voice, as she took him firmly by the arms and focused her gaze intently on his, refusing to allow him to break it. He stared at her through wide, terrified eyes, silently pleading with her for the answer he seemed to believe that she held for him. The mere announcement of Buffy’s presence had him on the edge of breaking…and Tara knew that they would likely have to face much greater dangers before this was over.

She had to get him through this.

“You have to stay calm, Sweetheart. You can’t let her get to you when she doesn’t even know you’re here. Okay? You have to calm down.”

Spike stared at her blankly for a long moment, before her words finally registered, and he nodded hurriedly, looking down as he struggled to focus his thoughts on something other than his instinctive terror of the small blonde girl downstairs. Suddenly, his eyes widened as he looked back up at her, a new fear in his eyes.

“Tara…*Dawn*!”

Her heart dropped to her stomach as she remembered the teenager, whose safety she had not even considered before. She wondered if Lorne had thought to seek her out and warn her as well. If he hadn’t, she could innocently head downstairs at any moment, unaware of the danger that awaited her there.

If he had, she was likely terrified, alone in the room where she had been by herself.

Making a quick decision, Tara released Spike’s arms and took his hand instead, leading him as far as the doorway before turning and facing him again.

“We have to be completely quiet,” she reminded him. “Don’t make a sound…don’t let her hear anything…we’re going to the room where Dawn is. We’ll be safer together.”

Spike looked at the door with a terrible dread in his eyes, and for a moment Tara thought that he would not be able to bring himself to walk out that door, even a single step nearer to the where the Slayer was.

“I’ll go,” she offered. “I’ll bring her here.”

“No!” Spike protested in a loud, hoarse whisper, his hand tightening on hers until it was nearly painful. “No, I…I’ll go with you…I can…I can do this, Tara…I can bloody well do this…it’s just a few steps, yeah? I can…I can do this…”

“Yes,” she agreed with an encouraging smile, though her eyes were solemn and troubled. “Yes, you can.” Without giving him time to second guess his own courage, she added, “Now come on. Let’s go.”

Within moments, they were relatively safe, in the room where Dawn had gone to be alone, huddled together on the bed, holding each other in silent comfort as they waited for the twenty minutes Lorne had promised to pass…hoping that the Slayer would not make her way up the stairs and into this room before they did.

And as they waited for their fate to catch up with them, Spike thought that, despite his terror, there was no better place to face one’s worst nightmare, than locked in the embrace of those who loved him most.


	48. Chapter 48

The Slayer stared at the dark vampire bravely facing her, her eyebrows raised in a look that was half irritation, half amusement. Angel’s jaw was set with determination, but there was a resignation in his eyes that betrayed him.

He knew this was a fight that he could not win.

“We’ve been over this, Angel,” she reminded him in a soft, overly patient voice. “Slayer strength. I’m stronger than you. You can’t beat me.” She paused before adding pointedly, “You can’t keep me away from him.”

“No. But I can try,” Angel replied, his voice low and grim and unyielding. “I can give him just a little bit longer without your abuse, Buffy.”

“Abuse?” Xander echoed with a disbelieving laugh. “Are you saying that you think *Buffy* abuses *Spike*? What kind of crap has he been telling you guys?”

“Only the true kind,” Fred put in accusingly from her spot near the door to Angel’s office, her eyes narrowed as she glared at the young man from Sunnydale. “You know…the kind with actual evidence? You should have *seen* him when he got here! And she is *not* going to get to him again!”

The Slayer’s cold smile turned on the little brunette, who tensed at her menacing attention, but stood her ground, glaring boldly back at her.

“I guess if I’m working my way through you all…you’ll get your turn, little girl,” Buffy sneered. “So until then, why don’t you just keep your mouth shut?”

“Buffy!” Willow objected, stepping uncertainly toward her. “Buffy, wait…you’re not really going to do this…are you?”

Buffy’s jaw worked with repressed rage, and she struggled to maintain control of her anger, her mind racing to think of a way to get the conversation back on a track that was helpful to her case.

“I don’t care what Spike did or said to convince you that I’m the bad guy in all this,” she said, her voice low and barely controlled. “I don’t know how he did it…maybe you’re *all* under some kind of spell. But that doesn’t even matter to me. Only one thing matters to me right now.”

Without warning, she drew back her fist and struck Angel hard across the face, stepping forward into his space as he fell back a step. “*Where* is my *sister*?” she demanded, her voice trembling with emotion, her fists clenched and trembling at her sides.

“She doesn’t want to see you!”

Angel retaliated with a brutal fist to her jaw, which sent her stumbling, her eyes wide with shock, as she clearly had not expected him to hit her back. Her shocked expression faded into a cold, bitter smile, as she rubbed absently at the place where his fist had connected, shaking her head in disbelieving amusement as she stalked slowly closer to the vampire…for the first time in as long as he had known her, actually making him feel like the prey that he was to her.

“I’m gonna find her, Angel,” Buffy declared softly. “Know that. No matter what you do to try to stop me…I *will* find her. *And* Spike.” She paused for a moment before adding in a voice of quiet, vicious certainty, “And I’ll kill him.”

“I’m sure you’d like to, Buffy. It’d be real convenient for you to just shut him up for good, wouldn’t it?” Angel’s voice was low and angry, as he slowly circled with her, watching her carefully, expecting another attack.

“All I want is my sister back, Angel…”

“And Tara,” Willow spoke up anxiously from where she stood watching the stand off.

“And Tara,” Buffy echoed, her cold smile revealing more to Angel than it revealed to her trusting friend. “All I want is to know that they’re safe.”

“They’re safe,” Angel stated simply with a shrug and a sardonic smile. “So, I guess you’ll just be going then…hey!”

He cried out in surprise as Buffy turned her back on him abruptly and rushed the little brunette blocking the door to his office. Fred let out a little yelp of fear and pain as Buffy gripped her throat and shoved her forcefully back against the door, glancing up at it before meeting the frightened girl’s eyes.

“You know, usually when someone is guarding a door…there’s something behind it they want to protect,” the Slayer mused thoughtfully, raising her eyebrows in a question as she searched the wide, fearful eyes of the girl in front of her. “Wonder what might be behind *this* particular door?”

“Buffy, let her go!” Angel snarled, heading toward her.

At the same time, Wesley and Gunn both moved to defend the girl they both loved, all three men heading at once for the Slayer who was menacing her.

Angel reached them first, and the Slayer shot her fist out at him without even looking, knocking him backward a few steps. “You can’t stop me, Angel, so don’t even try!”

The other two men who had been headed to the rescue of the tiny girl in peril of the Slayer’s wrath froze in their places, uncertain. If Angel could be so easily stopped by her, what chance did either of them stand against a Slayer?

To Wesley, it did not seem to matter.

He started forward again, his jaw set with determination, his eyes blazing with protective fury…until the Slayer tightened her grip on the girl’s throat, declaring in a low, menacing voice, “I don’t think you want to come any closer, Wes. Not unless you want me to break her neck.”

“*Buffy*!” Xander cried out, aghast at the violence of his friend’s behavior.

“Where are they?” Buffy demanded of Fred, her eyes narrowed and threatening.

“They’re not in there!” Fred squeaked, her thin hand clutching uselessly at the wrist attached to the hand clenched around her throat. “They’re not! There’s nothing in there to interest you…just our…”

Buffy shoved the door open violently, releasing Fred and stalking into Angel’s office.

“…clients,” Fred finished weakly, rubbing her sore throat as she followed the Slayer into the room.

Buffy frowned when all she saw were three strange, ethereal women, chanting quietly. “What…where…?”

“She told you, Buffy,” Angel growled, catching up and standing between Buffy and the Muses, though he looked a bit worse for wear from the blows he had taken. “Just our clients. Who would like to perform their ritual in peace. Now could you please get out of my office?”

Buffy stared up at the three women for a few moments, before a slow smile spread across her face. Angel’s heart sank with the thought that she might somehow have figured out what they were doing, and might attempt to harm them, to stop them from completing the spell.

“Buffy…Buffy, wait…”

But before he could even finish the wary plea, the Slayer had spun on her heel and was stalking out, in the opposite direction…toward the staircase that Lorne was still blocking.

“More than one passage being blocked here, isn’t there?” Buffy sneered, storming toward the green demon in her way.

Having already been menaced by her once too often, Lorne stepped back out of her way, his hands held up in a defensive gesture. Buffy ignored him completely, stalking up the stairs, her fists clenched at her side and cruel fury blazing in her eyes.

“Buffy…Buffy, no!” Angel called after her, rushing up the stairs behind her. He paused to give Lorne an incredulous, irritated look. “*That* was helpful.”  
  
“What?” the empath said defensively. “Hey, demon here…psychopathic Slayer there…it’s sort of an instinct thing, you know?”

Angel did not have time to argue about it, hurrying quickly up the stairs after Buffy.

There was nothing for the others to do but follow, her friends wanting to help her, and Angel’s crew wanting to stop her if they got the chance…which was really not all that likely, considering that she possessed greater physical strength and skill than…well, than pretty much any of them.

Fred remained behind, by the door to Angel’s office, still holding her bruised throat and trying to catch her breath. Wesley hurried to her side, his hands on her arms as he looked her over with care, a frown of concern on his face.

Lorne watched as the others rushed past, glancing uncertainly between them and Fred, before deciding and going to her side. Fred and Wesley both turned to face him as he approached.

“You okay, Freddiekins?”

“Yeah,” she gasped, then grimaced with pain as she amended, “I will be.”

“Good. How are the girls coming along?”

Fred gave him a helpless shrug, glancing through the open office door at the Muses, who had never ceased their chanting in all the action that had taken place.

“You tell me.”

“Okay, I’ll handle this, guys,” Lorne said, taking in a deep breath and letting it out quickly as he stepped into the office. “Go on upstairs with the others and try to keep her distracted…I’ll let you guys know the very moment the spell is in place.”

“Keep her *distracted*?” Fred echoed dubiously. “Um…I’ve had about all of her attention I can stand for one night, thank you very much!”

“I should say so!” Wes put in, his disapproval of the idea clear in his voice.

“Yeah, me too, Sugar,” Lorne sighed. “Just…just get on up there, okay? Wes, they might need you at least…that little Willow up there’s quite the powerful witch, so they’ll need someone who can work magicks. I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

Fred and Wesley disappeared up the stairs, and Lorne turned his attention to the Muses, clapping his hands a couple of times as he walked into the office.

“Okay, ladies, let’s get this show on the road! We’ve got a deadline, and it’s like…five minutes ago!”

*****************************

 

Spike heard her footsteps on the stairs, and his trembling body went very still beside Tara, his wide eyes fixed on the door, filled with rising panic.

“Tara,” Dawn whispered anxiously beside her. “Can’t you do a spell? Can’t you, like…hide us or something?”

“I can’t do any magic,” Tara told her, helpless anguish in her voice as she stared at the door along with her two friends. “Any other protection spells could mess up the sanctuary spell…and if they can just get that spell finished, then we won’t have anything to…”

The door slammed open, and her words broke off as the Slayer stood framed in the doorway, her hands on her hips, smiling in vindictive satisfaction at the frightened trio huddled on the bed.

“Well, isn’t this cozy,” she remarked coldly, slowly entering the room, her piercing gaze locking onto Spike’s terrified eyes.

His mind involuntarily went back to those dark moments in Buffy’s basement, when he had been gagged and blindfolded, bound and helpless. Her footsteps, slow and deliberate, making their way down the stairs, and the ominous feeling that had filled him at the sound….

The same feeling that filled his heart now as she stalked toward him.

Toward *them*.

With a shock, Spike realized that he was not the only one in danger in this scenario. Dawn and Tara would surely do whatever they could to try to protect him…and Buffy would do whatever she could to get them out of her way.

Without any sort of a plan, fully expecting his own doom, Spike knew that he had to do what he could to keep Buffy away from Tara and Dawn; and he quickly climbed off the bed, ignoring the protests of the girls as he backed away from the bed, moving along the wall to put as much distance between himself and them as possible.

“Get away from him!” Dawn screamed, getting up and rushing toward her sister, who easily pushed her back onto the bed as she passed it, without even looking at her.

The Slayer’s eyes were focused on her prey.

“A little help here, Willow?” she said without looking away from Spike, as Tara got up and started cautiously toward her.

“Buffy…Buffy, just…”

Tara began, but suddenly froze completely, as if she were a recorded image on pause. Spike realized with dismay that the same thing had happened to Dawn, where she sat on the bed, in the process of rising up again, and to every member of Angel’s group as well. They were frozen in place like stone statues, unmoving, unhearing, sightless eyes focused on nothing.

“I’m sorry, Baby.” Willow’s whispered apology was directed to Tara, her eyes welling with tears. “You’re under his spell…I can’t let you stop her. She’s got to take care of him, once and for all. You’ll understand in a few minutes…” There was no indication that the blonde witch heard her, and Willow sighed as she turned back toward her friend. “Buffy,” she began uncertainly, concern in her voice.

“Get out of here, Will,” Buffy snapped. “You and Anya and Xander. This is between me and him.”

“But…”

“*Now*!” the Slayer snarled.

Reluctantly, her friends complied, as they always did when she employed the authority of her position in her voice, leaving the room and closing the door.

And, surrounded by his protectors, Spike was horribly, helplessly alone.

“Hey, Baby,” Buffy smirked as she sauntered toward him. “Missed you.”

He flinched at the suggestive tone of her voice, his head knocking into the wall as she swiftly closed the distance between them, and he jerked back violently away from her, his breath coming in ragged, fearful pants.

“D-don’t touch me,” he gasped, flinching as she raised a hand, only to caress it lightly through his hair. His hand rose as if to ward her off, but then fell trembling to his side, as he could not quite find the courage to push her away.

The Slayer let out a low, dark laugh that had become painfully familiar to him during his time of captivity in her basement, and Spike shuddered as she pressed in close to him, one hand pressed against the wall beside him, hemming him in, while the other played more deliberately through his hair, in deliberate defiance to his words. She leaned in close to whisper in his ear, her lips brushing his skin, and increasing his violent shaking.

“You gonna stop me, Sweetheart?”

Spike swallowed back a strangled sob of terror, wanting to push her away, to fight back against this soft, subtle terrorization that she was inflicting upon him, but too well trained to resist her.

“Please,” he whispered, a tear escaping his eye and trailing down his cheek. “Please…don’t…”

“I told you I’d find you…didn’t I, Spike?” she whispered, trailing her hand down from his hair to his shoulder, her thumb gently rubbing along the side of his neck in what could have been a lover’s caress. “Didn’t I?” Her voice hardened when he did not respond.

He nodded quickly, swallowing convulsively, his eyes closed. “Y-yes…”

“Didn’t I tell you that no one could protect you from me?”

He nodded again, his face crumpling with despair. “I’m s-sorry,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Buffy, please…please…”

“Shut up!” she snapped, and he flinched, though her hand -- now trailing down his arm to take his hand in hers -- was still gentle. She smiled again when he was pliant, unresisting, allowing her to thread their fingers together though his hand was shaking violently. “That’s my boy,” she murmured soothingly, drawing his hand up to her lips to kiss it tenderly, her calculating eyes searching his face as she did.

“Look at me,” she commanded, her voice still soft, but with a note of steel to it that would not allow for disobedience.

Spike obeyed, tears spilling down his cheeks as his terror-filled eyes lifted to meet her cold, possessively lustful gaze.

“Who do you belong to, Spike?”

Spike looked away, and she clenched her hand around his tighter, moving in closer so that he flinched, but had no where to go, no way of escaping her oppressive nearness.

“I said look at me, you disgusting little slut!” she snarled, deadly menace in her lowered voice as she slammed her fist into the wall beside him, causing him to cringe in fear of the threatened blow. “Look at me!”

Spike had no choice but to obey, dragging his despairing eyes up to hers again, clearly lost to her already.

“What are you, Spike?”

He knew the answer she wanted, had played the cruel game enough times to know; but the fragile beginnings of new confidence that had been developing in him over the past few days rebelled against giving it to her. He hesitated, his lips parted to respond, yet silent.

Her voice was low, calm, and controlled, and all the more terrifying for it as she warned him, “Spike, I swear if you don’t answer me…”

“Wh-whore.”

“That’s right,” she agreed, her voice smooth as silk once more as she released his hand, trailing it downward to rest at his hip, her thumb a bare inch from the mark she had made on him, covered by his jeans, but throbbing for her touch against his will. Her next word was a chilling whisper. “Whose?”

Spike’s response was barely audible, broken and ashamed and hopeless. “Yours.”

“There…“

Buffy soothed him gently, rubbing her mark on his thigh and causing him to gasp with a mingled sensation of pain and pleasure so strong that his knees nearly collapsed beneath him. His hands clutched at the wall behind him, struggling to stay on his feet, as she massaged the mark, harder, mercilessly drawing from him emotions that he did not want to feel.

“…that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Please,” Spike moaned softly, reaching one hand down blindly to weakly grasp her wrist, desperate to free himself from her control. “Please, don’t…”

Buffy’s hand twisted, leaving the mark to grasp his wrist and slam it back against the wall, and Spike bit back a cry at the slight pain -- the first actual physical pain she had caused him during this encounter.

“You don’t tell me ‘don’t’,” she snarled in his ear, and he shook his head in pleading agreement with her words. “You’re mine, Spike, do you understand that? *Mine*!”

He nodded helplessly, sobbing now as she gripped his other wrist, holding him back against the wall, her body pressed invasively against his as she continued relentlessly.

“No one can change that. You tried to run from me, and look what it’s got you? Absolutely *nothing*. You’re still mine, Spike. I’ll do whatever the hell I want to do with you…and with your pathetic friends who tried to help you, too. They’re helpless now, too, Spike, you know that? I could kill them right now…”

“Please,” he whispered, shaking his head, his eyes downcast, his shoulders shaking with sobs. “Buffy, please, don’t…”

“No,” she assured him with false gentleness, the back of her hand -- which he knew could become so much crueler -- caressing across his cheek in a gesture that still made him flinch from her touch. “No, Spike…I won’t…because you’re going to be a good little *slave*…and walk out of here with me right now. Aren’t you?”

Spike hesitated just a moment, his heart aching with longing and despair…and then he nodded, tears streaming from his eyes.


	49. Chapter 49

“I’m gonna get Willow in here,” Buffy continued softly, easing her grip on Spike’s wrist, her free hand tracing lightly across his trembling lips in an idly possessive way, “and she’s going to get Tara and Dawn free of the spell…and we’re all going to walk out of here, together. Aren’t we?”

Spike nodded helplessly, choking back a sob of despair.

“You’re going to go along with my story…aren’t you, Baby?”

Buffy nodded leadingly, and Spike nodded again, knowing that he had no other choice but to obey her unspoken command.

“We’ll tell Tara and Dawn that I was right all along…you put a spell on them that made them believe you were the victim…but really, none of it was real. You tricked them, and kidnapped them…deceived them into going with you by using magic…”

Spike’s heart sank with despair at the thought of losing the trust, the friendship, of the two people in the world most important to him…but a mere moment’s consideration told him that they would not be likely to believe that story, no matter how convincingly he told it.

He ventured a whispered response, his wide, shell-shocked eyes on the floor at her feet.

“They’ll n-never…never believe it…”

But his words were cut off in a yelp of pain as she gripped his hair and jerked his head back hard, deliberately smashing it into the wall behind him as she leaned in close to reply in a hateful whisper of her own, mocking his stutter, the stutter he had only developed since her brutal torture of him.

“You’d b-b-better make sure that they do, Spikey…unless you want to watch everybody in this house die bloody, and know that it’s your fault. Do you understand me?”

He desperately nodded, as best he could with her fist clenched in his hair, as he replied in a shallow, breathless voice of anguished terror, “Y-yes…yes, Buffy…w-whatever you tell me, please, I’ll do it, just please, d-don’t hurt them, please…”

“What about you, Baby?” she taunted him, her voice smooth as silk as she jerked his head back harder, the caress of her warm breath on his throat sending a shudder of revulsion through him. “Don’t you care if I hurt *you*?”

Spike was absolutely terrified, having no idea what the right answer to this question would be. He didn’t dare to respond, swallowing convulsively, his eyes closed in an instinctive attempt at denial as she tenderly kissed his vulnerable, exposed throat. Then, she pulled his head up again, and her mouth was plundering his in a savage intrusion that he dared not resist.

When she drew back from the kiss, which was about dominance rather than pleasure, Buffy grinned at him wickedly as she added, “Hope not. ‘Cause you’ve sure got it coming, Baby.” She leaned in closer, her lips brushing his ear as she barely breathed against his skin, “Not that it matters to me in the slightest what you want.”

Spike did not move, did not resist, as she slid her hand down to possessively cup the mark on his thigh and went on, her voice calm and soothing now.

“Now, I’m gonna call Willow and the others in here, and have her break the spell, just on Tara and Dawn. We’ll tell them you’ve confessed…you put a mind control spell on them to make them believe your lies. You can’t break it here, you’ve got to wait until we get home, because the spell to break it is in a book you have there. Only you can do it; no one else can.”

Spike nodded slowly, though her plan did not seem to be very well thought out.

“H-how…” he flinched the moment the word left his mouth, expecting her to strike him simply for speaking without permission.

“Go on,” she urged him gently, though it was a frightening, controlling sort of gentleness.

“How are you g-going to…to make Tara and Dawn believe…I mean…”

“I’ve found a spell…it’s really more of a form of hypnosis. We’ll say you’re going to reverse the spell, and I just want to keep an eye on you. Then when we’re alone with them, we’ll place them under hypnosis, and tell them *my* version of what happened. Clear enough, or do you have any more stupid questions?”

Her tone made it clear that he had just used up the last of her very limited patience.

Spike nodded, silent, subdued, not daring to voice his remaining doubts as to the workability of her plan.

“Good,” Buffy said softly, her thumb stroking lightly over the mark through his jeans, sending a twinge of pain through his body with every touch. She smiled casually as he tensed at the sensation, and did not let up as she continued in that same calm, gentle voice, “If you try anything, Baby…if you don’t go along with my story, or try to get away from me…I’ll kill them both…and I’ll make you watch. And then, I’ll kill Angel and the rest of his little groupies, too.” She shrugged. “I’ll probably end up having to kill Willow and Xander and Anya too if that happens, but I can live with that. Can you, Sweetheart? Can you live with knowing that they’d all still be alive if only you’d not been a freakin’ idiot and disobeyed me?”

Spike shook his head, tears streaking his face at the thought of Tara and Dawn being murdered by the powerful Slayer. “No…please, Buffy…”

“I’ve had enough of the begging, Baby. If you say another word before I tell you to…”

Without pausing Buffy drew her fist back and backhanded him brutally, continuing as if nothing had happened, “…I’ll start to get irritated with you. And you really don’t want that, do you, Spike?”

He shook his head, one hand upraised to wipe the blood from his split lip.

“I didn’t think so,” Buffy concluded, stepping back away from him. “Now you just follow my lead…and everything will be fine. Okay?”

Spike nodded, his eyes downcast, not daring to speak.

A second blow caught him completely off guard, slamming into his face and dizzying him with the double impact of her fist, and the wall behind him. He looked up at her, wide eyes blinking dazedly in stunned confusion, as she drove her fist into his stomach, doubling him over in pain, then proceeded to hit him several times more, bruising and bloodying his face with the blows.

As he sank down against the wall, struggling not to collapse completely, Buffy crouched down in front of him, grasping his chin to turn his face toward her. Spike instinctively jerked away from her in momentary panic, but then froze at the indignant expression on her face, when he realized what he had done, trapped, terrified eyes locking onto hers as he went completely, deliberately still.

“That’s better,” Buffy murmured, the warning in her eyes fading slightly with his submission, her thumb rubbing across his bruised jaw as she turned his head back and forth, inspecting the damage before giving him a wicked smirk. “Gotta make it look good, don’t I? I mean, after all…I don’t think you’d confess to something as bad as what you did unless I beat the truth out of you…do you?”

Spike shook his head in a mechanical gesture, only because he knew it was what she expected, as Buffy stood up, towering over him as he huddled on the floor at her feet.

Not taking her penetrating, intimidating gaze off the dazed, frightened vampire, Buffy called loudly, “*Will*! I need you in here!”

Within moments, Buffy’s friends had entered the room, and Spike felt a wild hope that perhaps they had overheard everything; perhaps Buffy had given herself away. But the eager, curious expressions on their faces told him that whatever they had been doing to pass the time while they waited, it was unfortunately not eavesdropping.

“He admitted it,” Buffy informed them, disgust in her voice. “He used a spell on them to make them want to go with him.”

“What spell?” Willow demanded, stepping toward the subdued vampire, anger blazing in her eyes. “Can you undo it?”

Spike glanced uncertainly up at Buffy, but she was looking at him with a cluelessly expectant expression, and he knew that the time for his part of the deception had come. He cleared his throat, not quite meeting the witch’s eyes as he tried hard to sound as convincing as possible.

“Yeah. Just need -- just need the book I got it from. ‘S back in my crypt.”

“Will, you can go ahead and wake them up -- just Dawn and Tara -- and we can tell them what he did to them,” Buffy put in. “They might not want to listen, because of the spell, but we should be able to at least get them home…”

All at once, the Slayer’s words dropped off, and she stared around the room in astonishment, as Willow’s spell began to gradually lose its hold on the occupants of the room. One by one, Tara, Dawn, Angel, and his friends began to stir, looking around blankly at first, as if lost.

“What…I didn’t take the spell off yet!” Willow declared, alarm in her voice.

“I don’t get it,” Buffy said tersely, and as she spoke, Spike became aware of a set of rapid footsteps coming up the stairs toward them. “You’re the only one who’s supposed to be able to break it, right?”

“Hold everything!”

Lorne burst through the doorway, panting, leaning on the doorframe for support, a huge, beaming grin on his face as his eyes met Spike’s uncertain gaze.

“Sanctuary spell’s in place, Sugar Pie!” he announced, his expression instantly changing to disgust as he turned to Buffy and informed her, “Whatever you were saying…you’re done.” Just as quickly his smile was back in place as he reminded Spike, “She can’t touch you now. No act of violence can be performed within these walls. You’re safe.” He turned again toward Buffy, his face once again shifting to an expression of smug contempt as he added, “And you’re a heinous bitch. But I’m sure you’ve heard that before. Cupcake.”

Spike tensed against the wall in an instinctive reaction to the rage he could feel boiling up within the Slayer, bracing himself for a blow that was not directed at him, as Buffy drew back her fist in preparation to backhand the green demon who had insulted her. Confident in the sanctuary spell, Lorne did not move, did not even flinch, as her fist came sailing toward his face…only to hit an invisible obstacle with enough force to knock her backward a few steps, staggering as she attempted to catch her balance.

“See?” he remarked with satisfaction, his expression softening with compassion as he took in the shaken vampire across the room. “Safe.”

In the next few moments, the situation became somewhat chaotic, as the seven people who had been affected by Willow’s freezing spell awakened, and all began speaking at once, at a loss as to what had happened to them.

“What was that…?”

“Wait…when did Lorne get here?”

“Is the sanctuary spell done, then? I think I…zoned out for a second there…”

Tara said nothing, taking in the seemingly instantaneous change in position of various people in the room; Spike’s bruised and battered face, which had not been injured a mere instant ago; and the guilty expression on her former lover’s face. Willow was glancing around the room, bewildered and confused; she visibly paled, freezing completely when she saw the revulsion on Tara’s face.

“Tara…Baby…”

Tara ignored her completely, turning her attention instead toward Spike, rising from the bed and swiftly making her way to him. He gratefully pulled her into his arms as she helped him rise to his feet, resting his head on her shoulder and taking in several deep, gasping breaths, his body shaking violently as she just held him in silence. Dawn slipped off the bed and quietly moved to stand behind Spike, wrapping her arms around him in an awkward, hesitant gesture.

It was not quite clear whether it was meant more for his comfort or for her own.

“Okay, I’m not trying to spoil the moment or anything,” Cordelia said dryly, “but what the *heck* just happened here?”

“She put a spell on us,” Tara replied without hesitation, glaring over her shoulder at Willow. “She froze all of us but Buffy and Spike. So that Buffy could get to him, and no one would be able to help him.”

“No, that’s not it!” Willow objected. “It was to make things…less confusing, you know? So that she could talk to him…you two were already under a spell!” she insisted, gesturing toward Tara and Dawn. “He did it; he admitted it!”

“She made me,” Spike murmured against Tara’s shoulder so that only she could hear, holding her tighter, apprehension in his voice at the accusation. “She said she’d…she’d kill you, and Dawnie…if I didn’t…”

Dawn gasped, pulling away from Spike and turning to face her sister, a look of horrified betrayal in her eyes as tears slipped down her face.

Tara drew slowly back from Spike, her eyes smoldering with rage as she turned them first on Buffy, then on Willow, and then gently turned Spike so that he was facing them as well, though he would not raise his eyes to meet those of the mostly quiet, watching group.

“Yeah,” Tara said in a trembling voice of quiet disgust. “Take one good look at his face, and ask yourself why he *admitted* it, Willow!”

“Tara, you don’t understand! I’m doing this for *you*!”

“I don’t *want* you to!” Tara nearly shouted back. “You can’t just…just *control* me, Willow! You have to stop! If I want to be with Spike, I’ll be with Spike! You can’t just use a spell to change that!”

“I was just trying to help,” Willow insisted, her voice softer now, her eyes welling with tears. “I don’t understand what went wrong…why it didn’t work…”

The last statement seemed to me more to herself, but Tara heard it, and shook her head in disbelieving disgust. Even now, faced with Tara’s reaction to her overbearing use of magic yet *again*, Willow’s concern was with what had gone wrong with her spell, rather than with the fact that she had used the spell at all.

“The sanctuary spell, Honey,” Lorne informed her matter-of-factly from the doorway. “Prevents any form of violence whatsoever.”

“Violence?” Willow shook her head in dismay. “No…it wasn’t…”

“Um…yeah. Mind control qualifies as violence, Sweet Pea.”

The room was silent for a moment, everyone taking in his words. Willow appeared to be in a state of deep shock, staring at the wall with a stricken expression on her face.

“Yeah…so…if mind control spells count as violence,” Anya spoke up slowly, a thoughtful frown on her face, “then…how come *Spike’s* spell’s still working?”


	50. Chapter 50

*If the sanctuary spell reads mind control spells as violence…then why is Spike’s spell still working?*

A moment’s weighted silence followed Anya’s question, as those who were already aware of the truth about what had happened between Buffy and Spike waited anxiously to see if the others would catch on to what the ex-demon was pointing out. Xander and Willow glanced uncertainly at each other, before turning their eyes expectantly on Buffy, waiting trustingly for her explanation.

“Because he’s not *using* a spell,” Tara stated, unable to bear the tension, and the apparent fact that the remaining Scoobies were about to buy into the Slayer’s lies once more. “That’s why. This proves it. If Spike was using a mind control spell of some kind, then it would have broken at the same time Willow’s spell did. But he’s *not*. Dawn and I -- we want to be here, with him, because he’s *telling the truth*.”

In the tense anticipation that filled the room, no one noticed the petite brunette standing near Wesley and Gunn make her way silently out of the room and down the stairs.

“Tara…Baby…”

“*Don’t* call me that, Willow, I’m not your girlfriend anymore!”

Without really meaning to, Tara snapped at the anxious witch, who stood beside Buffy nervously wringing her hands, and flinched at the unexpected hostility in Tara’s voice. The hurt in Willow’s eyes at her tone almost made Tara feel bad…but not quite. The events of the past few minutes proved painfully that Willow was nowhere near the level of understanding she needed to get her powers under control.

In a small and injured voice, the redhead tried again. “But…”

“No!” Tara cut her off again, not quite as angrily, but still with enough force to silence the other girl’s half-formed protests. “If you really cared about me, Willow, you’d respect me enough to actually *listen* to me, instead of just doing what you’ve always done and assuming that you know best!”

“Look…you two can figure this all out later,” Buffy impatiently put in, giving Spike a brief but pointed look before turning her firm gaze on Dawn. “But I am taking my sister home.”

“No!” Dawn cried out forcefully, as the Slayer strode toward her. “No, Buffy, you can’t!”

“No,” Spike echoed in a voice of fearful anguish, instinctively pulling Dawn closer to him on his other side, though the despair in his voice made it clear just how capable he felt of actually protecting the girl.

Instinctively, Dawn did the one thing that she likely *shouldn’t* have done, releasing her hold on Spike and backing away from her advancing sister, inadvertently separating herself from her allies. Dawn only stopped moving when she was backed into the corner of the room, her hands pressed to the walls behind her, wide-eyed as she shook her head in emphatic refusal.

“Buffy, no!” Spike objected, thoughtlessly releasing Tara and starting toward the frightened girl, desperately attempting to retreat from the angry Slayer. “Buffy, leave her alone!”

“No, Buffy, I’m not going with you! You can’t make me!”

“Like hell I can’t,” Buffy muttered angrily, reaching out to snatch her little sister’s arm and yank her toward her.

But just as she would have made contact, a powerful force knocked her backward several steps, as the sanctuary spell refused to allow her to touch her sister. She staggered as she tried to regain her balance, and then stood staring in horror and shock at Dawn, who was every bit as out of her reach now as Spike was.

“See?” Tara exulted, holding out an arm toward the scene. “Violence. Why would the spell read that as violence, unless Buffy wanted to hurt Dawn?”

“Maybe there’s something wrong with the sanctuary spell,” Xander suggested almost desperately.

Willow’s eyes lit up with hope, as she eagerly snatched at that possibility. “Yeah! Maybe that’s it! I mean, Buffy wasn’t trying to hurt her; she just reached to *touch* her…and the spell wouldn’t let her…so it’s obviously messed up!”

“No,” Tara insisted, her voice darkening with dismay as she saw the turn the conversation was taking. “No, Will, you have to see this! I know you don’t want to, but it’s staring you right in the face!”

“Tara,” Willow began again, more cautiously this time. “Tara, I’m trying to…to understand this, but…but I just can’t see how Buffy’s the bad guy in this. I can’t see why you would ever believe that she would…”

*No, no, please, don't do this, Buffy, please, no, *no*...*

Willow fell silent, and the eyes of everyone in the room were immediately drawn to the doorway, the slender girl who stood there, and the tinny sound of the recorded voices coming from the device she held in her hand. Fred looked up through wide, somber eyes, gauging the reactions of each of them in turn, as the horrific exchange that Dawn had recorded a few nights earlier played for them all to hear.

*You’ll open your mouth, *now*, Spike…or…well…I could go upstairs, and…find other things to do…*

It was not immediately apparent what “other things” Buffy was referring to on the tape, but the dark, menacing quality to her voice alone was enough to draw her friends’ alarmed eyes to her in a bewildered question. And then, Spike’s next words echoed clearly from the tape recorder, removing all doubt as to Buffy’s subtle threat.

*No…you wouldn’t…Buffy, y-you wouldn’t hurt her…wouldn’t hurt Dawn…*

“What is this?” the Slayer demanded in an incredulous voice, though it was slightly nervous, and not entirely convincing. “This never happened. I never said that…what did you do, Spike?” Her eyes narrowed as she turned a menacing glare on the blond vampire.

Tara saw Spike’s body tense, even from where he stood a few yards away from her, as Buffy’s attention focused back on him; and the blonde witch realized that while hearing the tape was probably the best possible thing for Buffy’s friends, it was not exactly therapeutic to the damaged vampire, no longer by her side where he felt safe, and especially with his tormentor standing in the room, such a terrifyingly short distance away from him.

*Hurt her? Spike, you’ll do what I say…or I’ll *kill* her!*

“Okay, really freakin’, here.” Xander glanced around the room uncertainly, seeking someone who would have the answers. “What is that? Buffy would never hurt Dawnie, we know that! She *died* for her, for Pete’s sake!”

“She’s changed, Xan,” Dawn informed him in a trembling voice, her face streaked with tears at the fresh pain of hearing her sister’s past words again. “She’s not…not the same person that she was…she *said* those things. She did. I was there. I’m the one who…who made the tape.”

“What?” Willow gasped. “Dawnie, no!”

“I…I can’t believe that.” Xander shook his head in dismayed denial, turning his eyes on Buffy with the beginnings of betrayal in his gaze. “Buffy…you couldn’t…”

Satisfied that what needed to be heard had already been heard, Fred turned the tape recorder off, smiling uncertainly as she met Lorne’s eyes, and he gave her a wink and a nod of approval. She had done what she could to bring the truth to light; the rest was up to Buffy’s friends to decide.

“This is ridiculous!” Buffy objected, her voice rising with anger and frustration. “It’s some kind of trick! I told you, he admitted he has them under a spell…”

“But the spell should have broken,” Anya reminded her, suspicion now apparent on her face. “Whenever the other spell broke, the one Willow did…it should have broken, too.”

“Yeah,” Willow said softly, frowning in troubled thought. “Why didn’t it?”

“Maybe it’s stronger magic than this ‘sanctuary’ thing they did,” Buffy suggested with a careless shrug, as if to suggest that the matter was not really all that important. “I don’t know! All I know is that this is some trick he’s come up with! I never said those things; that never happened!”

“Spike’s spell was stronger than mine?” Willow concluded doubtfully. “That…doesn’t seem likely.”

“As much as he hates magic, he probably wouldn’t be any good at it,” Anya added.

“So, what? You guys are saying…what?” Buffy demanded, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “That you actually *believe* this crap? You actually think my own sister -- and your girlfriend, Will -- would run off with *Spike* of their own free will? He’s a monster…a killer…and you’re trying to make *me* the bad guy in all this? After all the times I’ve *saved your lives*…after all the times Spike has tried to kill us…you’re taking his side? You actually think I’m some kind of psychotic monster that could threaten to kill my own sister?”

The silence that followed in response to her words was a devastating answer to her questions.

After a tense moment, Fred interjected quietly, “Psychopathic…actually…”

“No,” Xander objected, shaking his head emphatically, his eyes going wide as Fred’s matter-of-fact statement seemed to make what was happening all too real to him. “No, that’s not it…that *can’t* be it. Will, this is *Buffy* we’re talking about here! This has to be a trick! She’s right. We’ve been to the end of the world and back…again and again…and through it all, we’ve always stuck together. If we turn on each other now…”

“Who said anything about each other?” Anya frowned. “We’re talking about Buffy. As in *only* Buffy.”

“You know what? Fine!” Buffy snapped, seething with furious indignation. “I don’t care! Think what you want to think! If you want to believe, after everything we’ve been through, that I’m the monster and the *vampire* is some kind of victim…that’s fine. Whatever.”

Her eyes narrowed as she focused in on Spike, stalking toward him, and the already shaken vampire lurched backward against the wall in automatic terror at her advance. His mind was screaming frantically at him, reminding him that she could not hurt him, could not touch him, not with the sanctuary spell in place.

But with those cold eyes blazing into his, the sanctuary spell felt like nothing more than useless words.

Buffy’s tone did not change as she continued, her eyes locked onto Spike’s, speaking chilling volumes more than her words, as she swiftly closed the gap between them.

“But you know this, Spike…I am *going* to find a way to undo whatever it is you’ve done to them…to *Dawn*…and I am going to get her back.”

“Hey!” Tara objected, alarmed, moving quickly as if to get between the Slayer and the vampire. “Back off!”

Buffy smoothly shifted her position to the side so that she remained between Tara and Spike, blocking the witch from getting to her friend’s side. A triumphant smile crossed her face as she met Spike’s eyes, and he realized what she had already thought of -- Buffy couldn’t touch anyone in this room with violent intent…but they could not touch her, either.

“She can’t hurt you, Spike!” Tara reminded him angrily, glaring at the Slayer from behind her. “Spike, she can’t even touch you! Don’t let her…”

“Buffy, stop it!” Angel demanded, stepping forward, but then stopping, frowning as he realized that he really could not stop her.

“Um…why doesn’t somebody do something?” Gunn wondered aloud, his quiet, wary words, directed toward the ex-Watcher beside him, suggesting that he personally was not about to try to help until he knew the answer to that question.

“Because there’s nothing anyone can do, with the sanctuary spell in place.”

“What’s there to do anything about?” Xander demanded, his tone defensive for his friend as he gave the two men a confused look. “She’s just talking. She hasn’t even touched him!”

But in truth, Buffy was doing far more than “just talking”.

“I’ll find a way around this, Spike…around this thing that you’ve done,” Buffy reiterated softly, edging in nearer to the frightened vampire, whose back was to the wall now. “And when I do…you’re going to wish you’d never *touched* my sister…never crossed me…”

He flinched as she raised a hand and leaned it against the wall beside him, his body trembling and taut with fear.

*She can’t hurt me…can’t hurt me…can’t…hurt me…hurt me…please don’t…don’t hurt me…*

Buffy pressed in closer, though still not quite touching him, quiet for a moment as she observed his fearful, instinctive reaction to her with a subtle satisfaction. She tilted her head slightly until Spike was forced to meet her gaze, waiting patiently until he was looking her in the eye to continue in a voice barely over a whisper, too soft for the others to hear.

“Can’t hurt you, huh? Can’t touch you?”

He drew in a sharp breath as she gave him a brief but invasive look up and down, her eyes lingering on the bruises that marred his face and arms from her most recent beating, before meeting his eyes again, a knowing, predatory look in her eyes that made his spine freeze in a tingling, paralyzing sense of terror. Buffy’s next words were barely audible even to Spike, a cold breath of menace.

“Somebody oughta tell *you* that…huh, Baby?”

Spike dropped his gaze, his jaw working with repressed tears as he struggled to maintain control over his breathing, his emotions. The Slayer’s manner changed back in an instant, though he had a sinking feeling that most of the others had not noticed the initial change to begin with. The entire exchange had only lasted a matter of moments, and Spike knew that to anyone unfamiliar with their recent history, nothing about it would have seemed out of the ordinary.

Except for the overwhelming tremors that were shaking his body…his obvious terror of her, that her friends had never seen before.

Under the powerful scrutiny of his abuser and those closest to her, those who seemed determined to somehow make this his fault, Spike felt overwhelmed and ashamed. His fear and incapability of even facing her became a weight upon him, driving his head downward in shame, and filling his face with the heat of humiliation.

In a louder voice, intended for the hearing of the entire room, Buffy concluded, “I’m going to save her from you, Spike. But obviously it’s not going to be today. I *will* break this spell you have over her, and I *will* get her out of here. It’s just a matter of finding the way.”

The Slayer turned abruptly away from him, her gaze hard and determined as she looked at her friends, who did not seem capable of meeting her eyes at the moment.

“You can help me if you want. I really don’t care.”

With that, Buffy stalked toward the door, head held high, looking for all the world like the tragic hero, betrayed and misunderstood even by those closest to her, yet determined to conquer in the end.

It was a look her friends knew well.

It was only moments before Willow and Xander were both following after her.

“Buffy…Buffy, wait!” Willow cried out.

“Xander…” Anya hesitantly objected, but allowed herself to be pulled out the door by her fiancé’s hand.

“I’ll see you out,” Lorne offered with false grace, a wide smile on his face. “Make sure the door hits you on the caboose and all that.”

The room fell silent, each quietly taking in what they had just seen, processing it in their own way…while Spike just tried to pretend that they were not there, that he was alone in his humiliation, and would not have to face them all, now, knowing that they had seen how thoroughly the Slayer had shattered him…how completely she dominated him, without the benefit of even the slightest touch.

After a few moments, Lorne returned, announcing even before he entered the room, “They’re gone. Probably not far…but it doesn’t really matter, does it? With that spell in place…”

His voice trailed off as he stepped through the doorway, and he drew in a sharp gasp. His eyes fastened on the vampire across the room, still leaning against the wall, his arms crossed protectively over his torso, shaking violently, his head bowed as low as possible. The others in the room seemed aware of it to an extent, but Lorne knew that they could not feel it as well as he could.

The sharp, anguished shame and humiliation, rolling off Spike in waves.

“Um…guys…” the empath began cautiously, his eyes fastened on Spike.

“Please,” the blond vampire spoke softly before he could go on, but his low voice still drew the attention of all in the room. “Get out.”

“Spike?” Angel started uncertainly toward his childe, concern in his eyes.

“Nuh-uh, Angel-cakes,” Lorne advised him. “Give the boy some space, okay?”

“Please,” Spike repeated, his voice breaking over the word. “Just…just go…can I just…? Please…” His voice trailed off in defeat as he found that he could not quite find the words to express his need.

Between them, Angel and Lorne ushered the rest of Angel’s crew out of the room.

Dawn hesitated, uncertain, and Tara gave her a gentle, sympathetic hug, before whispering in her ear, “Go on, Sweetie. Give me a minute with him, okay?” When Dawn looked up at her through troubled eyes, she added, “He’ll be okay. He just needs…he’ll be fine, Sweetie.”

Dawn did not look convinced, but she took one last sorrowful look at her friend, who still would not look at her…and she went.

Once the room was empty except for the two of them, Tara headed cautiously toward Spike, who had not moved from his defensive position against the wall, and still did not look up.

“Spike…”

“Don’t.”

The anguish in his voice set a physical ache in her chest, as Tara advanced slowly toward him. “It’s okay, Sweetheart,” Tara insisted gently. “Spike, it’s okay. It’s over and done now. She can’t touch you…”

“Don’t you get it?” Spike rasped out in a painful whisper, raising anguished eyes to briefly meet hers. “Tara…it’s never gonna be bloody ‘over’. N-never. She…she *can* touch me…she’ll always be able to…to…” His voice broke, and Tara felt a sense of alarm as a tremor shook through him, nearly driving him to his knees.

She moved forward instinctively to help him, but his nearly shouted words stopped her in her tracks, smiting her heart with pain at his rejection.

“*Don’t soddin’ touch me*!”

As he spoke, Spike jerked away from her, managing in the process to lose his balance. He caught his weight on one hand, but just as he was about to rise, he seemed to lose all strength, all drive even to stand, and simply allowed himself to collapse to the floor, one arm held up defensively as if to ward her off.

“Don’t,” he whispered, desolation in his voice. “Just…just don’t, Tara…please…”

Confused, Tara felt her heart breaking a little more with every word he spoke. “Spike…I just want to help…I just…I love you, Spike…”

“Don’t…d-don’t…”

“I’m not,” she assured him quickly, holding up her hands in a surrendering gesture. “I’m not going to touch you if you don’t want me to, Spike…”

Her words trailed off as he shook his head, telling her that she had misunderstood him. When he looked up at her again, the haunted, hopeless look on his bruised, tear-streaked face took her breath away, as he clarified his meaning in a harsh, hurting whisper.

“Don’t *love* me.”


	51. Chapter 51

Xander cringed as the Slayer slammed the passenger door of his car with what sounded and felt like enough force to bend metal.

“Drive,” she snarled, glaring out the windshield. She was quiet for a moment before adding, “Stop at the first hotel you see. We’re checking in for a while. I’m not leaving this city without my sister.”

Xander studied her face for a moment in fleeting glances, realizing with alarm that he was actually afraid to let her catch him staring. He had never seen Buffy like this before, not even the last time Dawn had been taken from her, by Glory. That time, she had simply shut down, not gone on a yelling, stomping, screaming rampage, and not done physical harm to his cherished mode of transportation.

Xander decided that he liked catatonic Buffy better.

She was far less scary.

“Buffy,” Willow spoke up from the back seat, her cautious tone indicating that she was just as concerned as Xander. “What…what was that, back there? I mean…that tape…”

“I have no idea, Willow,” Buffy bit off the words with barely restrained rage, not taking her eyes from the road in front of them. “It was some kind of trick. But to think that he would actually go so far as to insinuate that I would hurt Dawn…I’m telling you guys, when we manage to break it…when we stop him…I’m telling you, he is *dead*. I am through messing around with him. This time, I’m *really* gonna stake him.”

“Well, if he kidnapped Dawn, I don’t blame you,” Xander replied with a heavy sigh, as he turned the car into the parking lot of a hotel about a block from the Hyperion. “It’s just…Buffy…”

“*If* he kidnapped Dawn?” Buffy echoed indignantly, turning in her seat to face her friend, whose stomach suddenly dropped at the cold fury in her voice. “What kind of crap is *that*?”

“Well, obviously he kidnapped her, Buffy,” Xander hurriedly amended. “It’s just…she didn’t seem at all scared, and…”

“Of Spike, anyway,” Anya put in with a shrug.

This time Buffy turned all the way around in her seat, glaring at the ex-vengeance demon. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Anya’s eyes widened with alarm, and she quickly explained, “Only that…she didn’t exactly seem to want to come home, that’s all…”

“It’s the spell,” Buffy ground out angrily. “Whatever spell he’s put on them made her think that I’m the bad guy, remember? Of course she was acting scared of me! That -- that *trick* of his made it sound like I was going to kill her!”

“How *did* that trick manage to keep working, with that ‘no harmful magic or violence’ thing in place?” Willow mused, staring out the window thoughtfully. “I mean…it doesn’t make sense.” She was quiet for a moment before adding in a softer voice, “And…my spell wasn’t harmful…I just don’t get it.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Buffy muttered, turning around again to look out the front window as Xander stopped the car in a parking place. “Let’s just…get a couple of rooms to start with, for tonight…get a good night’s sleep…and figure this out in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Anya said in a quiet, small voice, unlike her own enough to alert the Slayer to how intimidating she had sounded.

And despite the perverse pleasure she took in frightening Xander’s annoying fiancée, Buffy knew that scaring away the only support she had in this right now was probably a bad idea.

“I’m sorry, guys,” she said quietly, burying her face in her hands and drawing in a deep breath. “I’m so sorry…I just feel like…like I’m losing it, you know? He’s got my *sister*!”

Relief was clear in Xander’s voice as he reached out a hand to rest gently on her arm and sympathetically replied for all of them, “We know, Buffy. We know it’s hard. It’s just…don’t take it out on the wrong people, okay? We love you. We want to help.”

“Sorry, guys,” Buffy repeated, raising her head and giving Xander a tearful, apologetic smile. “I need some rest…I’m sorry…” She reached for the door handle, her expression becoming grim and determined as she added, “I promise not to take it out on anyone…until I can take it out on the *right* one.”

Her friends seemed appeased as they got out of the car and set about the business of checking in for the night. Relieved that she had managed to so easily diffuse the potential consequences of her actions, Buffy allowed a small smile to rise to her lips as she called to mind the image of the shaking, terrified vampire who had so swiftly wilted in her presence.

*He’s still mine,* she reminded herself with a sense of satisfaction. *He may not be with me right now…but he’s still mine and he always will be…and before I’m through with him, he’s gonna know it!*

**********************************

 

Tara stared at the trembling, silently sobbing vampire as his shoulders began to shake. His arms crossed more tightly around his torso, as if he were physically trying to hold together the shattered pieces of his heart, his confidence, his very sense of who he was.

*Don’t love me…*

The painful words he had spoken -- painful to speak and painful to hear -- echoed in Tara’s mind, as she edged closer to him, dropping to a crouch as she neared him, so as not to appear in any way threatening to the shaken creature. She reached out a cautious hand toward him…but then drew it back again, aware that any touch at this moment might be perceived as invasive.

“Spike,” she whispered gently, falling forward onto her knees in front of him, earnestly seeking his despairing, downcast eyes. “Spike, Sweetie…why would you say that? Why don’t you want me to love you?” She hesitated, before giving him a sad, rueful smile and adding in a gently teasing tone designed to coax a smile from him, “Because I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to help it…so…”

Not even the faintest glimmer of amusement showed in his anguished eyes of shattered blue crystal, as he looked up at her with tears streaking his face, and whispered in a halting, broken voice, barely coherent for the hitching of his breath due to the sobs he had not yet managed to control.

“Because I d-don’t…don’t deserve it, Tara. Don’t…don’t *waste* your…yourself…your love…I’m too…too far bloody *gone*, Tara! There’s…there’s nothing left of…of what I was…she took it all, and…and there’s nothing left…nothing that’s worth…even a moment of…”

His words were choked off by a sob, as he lowered his head again, shaking it in defeat, his shoulders shaking as a fresh torrent of tears overwhelmed him, taking his ability to speak at all. He pushed his back against the wall, drawing his legs up in front of him and holding them to him in a defensive pose that made him look terribly small and vulnerable, and tore Tara’s heart to shreds within her chest.

“Spike,” she whispered, edging nearer to him, her arms, her heart, aching to take him close and hold him, but terrified that it would be the wrong thing -- that in this fragile state, even her formerly trusted embrace would drive him to panic, and only serve to reinforce the damaging ideas that Buffy had caused to be reborn within him.

“Spike…that’s not true…”

“I’ve killed two Slayers,” Spike went on as if she had not spoken, his words slightly muffled, his face pressed downward between his knees. “Granted, not somethin’ I’m all that bloody proud of at this point…not when I know what you must think of it…what you and the Bit…” His voice trailed off for a moment, before he abandoned that line of thought and went on, “But…but I used to be strong…powerful…and now…look what she’s turned me into.”

Tara was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke her voice was soft and calm and even. “What’s on that tape, Spike…it’s horrible. It’s painful and disgusting and horrible, and I’m sorry that you had to relive that again by listening to it.”

Spike did not respond, did not move at all, waiting for her to go on in the vein of her apparent change of subject.

“But…as bad as it is…as much as it hurt to listen to that, and to know what you…what you were going through when it was made,” Tara continued, her own face streaked with tears now as she edged nearer to him, so near now that her knees nearly brushed against his feet. “It…it makes me proud of you, Spike.”

Spike’s trembling form froze for a long moment, before he slowly raised his head, staring at her aghast and disbelieving. Confusion in his eyes, he shook his head as he whispered, “H-how…how can you possibly…?”

His shock kept him from protesting as she slid closer to him, reaching up to gently rest her hands on his folded arms. The tender admiration in her eyes quickly made him look away again, uncomfortable with affection that he did not believe he deserved, but Tara did not back down.

“She could have done anything to you, Spike,” she reminded him…though he did not need reminding of that fact. “She had you in a place where your very life was at stake, every moment. You were chained up and at her mercy, and there was only so much you could do to fight back.

A shiver went down his spine, and he wondered why she was bringing this up again, as if it was not the nearest of his memories every moment of every day.

“When I listened to that conversation,” Tara went on, her voice soft and hushed and holding an inexplicable note of awe, “I thought that if it was me…and she tried to pour that stuff down my throat…”  
  
“She…w-wasn’t gonna…didn’t want to dust me…” Spike argued, his voice low and subdued as the painful memories washed over him with her words.

“You didn’t know that,” Tara pointed out, her voice firmer as he anxiously pulled his arms back, and she caught his hands in hers before he could completely break contact. “For all you knew, she was going to kill you right then, and in the most painful way I can imagine. The most natural thing in the world in that moment, for anyone, would have been to keep your mouth shut, no matter what she told you to do.”

“But I didn’t.” Spike’s voice was full of loathing and disgust as he lowered his gaze to the floor, tears flowing down to make tiny dark marks on the soft carpet between them. “Didn’t even have that much soddin’ courage, not even with that much at stake…”

“Yes, you did,” Tara argued. “As long as that was *all* that was at stake. When something else was placed at risk…you showed even greater courage.”

Spike hesitantly raised his eyes to meet hers, his curiosity momentarily overcoming his shame, as he tried to figure out what she meant. Tara’s soft grey eyes held his with a gaze of fierce devotion that would not allow him to look away, as she continued, genuine awe and respect evident on her face.

“When she threatened Dawn…that’s when you showed *real* courage, Spike. That’s when you completely disregarded the consequences to you, and laid down your very life for her to take…to save *Dawn*. And I don’t care what you think, Spike, what she’s *made* you think…no weak, cowardly, worthless person would ever have done that.”

A slight frown of confusion formed on the vampire’s tear-stained face, as he stared past her, thinking over what she had said. Fresh tears welled in his eyes, and a pained grimace crossed his face as his shame won out, and he tried to pull his hands away from her again.

Tara held on to him, refusing to allow him to sink back into his private hell.

“To even *survive*…after all you’ve been through…and to still even have the capacity to love at all…you’re *amazing*, Spike…and I love you...”

“No,” he sobbed, lowering his head toward the hands she still clasped, in an instinctive attempt to hide his face. “No, don’t…I don’t…don’t want you to…”

“Too late,” Tara replied in a voice husky with tears that glittered in her warm grey eyes. “You should have thought about that before you made such an impression, shouldn‘t you?” Her voice softened with compassion as she added almost as an afterthought, “And yes…you do.”

“No,” Spike whispered again almost desperately, and Tara’s heart ached as she felt the cool moisture of his tears soaking into the cuffs of her long sleeves. “Tara…I’m not…I …I can’t…no…”

“You are,” she whispered, raising one hand to rest tenderly on the back of his neck as she leaned in close to embrace him. “You can, Spike.”

She wasn’t sure which of Buffy’s lies exactly she was contradicting…only that the hold they still maintained over Spike’s heart and mind had to be broken. And while a few simple words could not accomplish that in the space of a few moments’ time, consistent affirmation and encouragement could go a long way in making a start.

As her arms slipped cautiously around him, Spike’s entire body tensed up, and he went completely still; and for a brief, awful moment, Tara wondered if she had read the whole thing wrong…if she had ruined everything by touching him when he was in such a fragile state.

And then, Spike’s rigid body sagged against her, his shaking hands reaching up to rest on her shoulders as his head fell forward against her breast. Grateful tears streamed from Tara’s closed eyes as she wrapped her arms more tightly around him and held him close to her, rocking slightly as he clung to her with a fierce desperation he had been holding back before.

“Shhh,” she soothed him in a whisper as she held him close. “It’s okay…you’re safe now…you’re safe, Spike. She can’t touch you here. You’re safe. This is a place where she can’t touch you.”

And in the shelter of her arms and her acceptance, a place which felt far more secure to him than the building itself…Spike finally believed that it was true.


	52. Chapter 52

“We need to find a way to get through that stupid sanctuary spell.”

Willow nodded her agreement to the Slayer’s declaration, without looking up from the book in front of her on the table. They had reached the adjoining hotel rooms, only to find that each of them was too troubled to actually sleep. The remnants of the Scoobie gang ended up gathered in the room that Anya and Xander were sharing, around a much smaller circular research table than usual, poring through the magic books Willow had brought, trying to think of a way to rescue Tara and Dawn from Spike’s evil clutches.

“Yeah. If we can just get past that, and get Dawnie and Tara *home*, then maybe we can find a way to break the spell,” the redhead replied to Buffy’s words.

Anya frowned, troubled. “Shouldn’t we be focusing on breaking *Spike’s* spell…if it really is a spell he’s using? I mean…why should we be trying to break the spell that allows violence, instead of the one that’s actually making Tara and Dawn take his side?”

“What do you mean, *if* it’s a spell?” Buffy demanded angrily. “Anya, if you’re not actually on my side in this…”

“There are other kinds of mind control,” Anya hastily pointed out, uncomfortable under the mutual glares of her fiancée and his best friend. “I’m not saying it’s not a trick; I’m just saying…maybe it’s not a *spell*.”

“In which case we don’t have time for intensive deprogramming,” Buffy snapped tersely, turning back toward the table. “If that *is* the case, the only option we have is to get them away from Spike and home, where we can figure out how to help them.”

“But…maybe it *is* a spell,” Willow reminded her, sounding as if she almost hoped that it was. “In which case, we ought to be able to find a way to break it…”

“Killing Spike. That should break it. If we can break the *other* spell.”

“Or, killing Spike could just mean that they’re stuck like that forever,” Anya put in flatly. “If it’s the sort of spell that only the spellcaster can break.”

“*God*, Anya, will you *shut up*?” Buffy snarled, jumping up from her seat furiously, causing both Anya and Xander at her side to flinch away from her. “I do *not* need this from you!”

“Buffy,” Xander spoke up cautiously. “Buffy, she’s only trying to help…we talked about this, remember? The not taking it out on innocent and humanly fragile bystanders? The innocent, fragile bystanders who want to *help you*?”

Buffy drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly in an obvious attempt to control her temper.

“I need a minute,” she bit off the words as she stalked stiffly away from the table and toward the door to the next room.

“Buffy…”

“Just leave me alone!” she snapped, putting just the right sound of tears in her voice to throw the stupid children off the scent, and imply to them that her anger was simply a byproduct of her fear for her sister, as she slammed the door hard behind her.

Without stopping or slowing her pace, she made her way to the bed, reaching under it to pull out a small briefcase she had brought along with her. She glanced over her shoulder, checking to be sure no one was following her before she opened the case, and took out the old, leather bound book she had placed there…the one that detailed the history and possible uses of the bond she had placed between her and Spike.

“Let’s see,” she murmured to herself as she climbed into her bed and paged through the book. “There’s gotta be a way in here…gotta be a way to hurt him, without using actual violence…”

After a few moments, her eyes lit up with interest, and a slow smile began to spread across her face.

“Perfect,” she whispered, as she closed the book and put it back in the briefcase, replacing the case under the bed. “Just perfect…I’ll have that pathetic little slut *walking* out of there and *begging* me to take him back in no time!”

With a satisfied smile on her face, the Slayer turned off the light and nestled down into the bed for a long, peaceful, and much-needed rest.

*************************************

“Sweetie…I know you’ve gotta be pretty shaken up and all, what with big sis pulling her psycho act…but could you make with the *not* pacing for a few seconds? You’re making me dizzy…and Angelcakes isn’t gonna be thrilled if you wear a hole in his carpet.”

 

Dawn had been tirelessly pacing back and forth across the lobby floor, glancing anxiously every now and then toward the stairs, and the room where they had left Tara and Spike. She stopped, turning her attention toward the green demon sitting on the sofa, watching her with a concerned expression on his face.

 

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, flopping down on the sofa beside him, her gaze once more fastened on the top of the stairs. “I just…I mean…do you think he’s gonna be okay?”

 

Satisfied that they were all relatively safe for the night, the effectiveness of the sanctuary spell having been proven beyond all doubt, most of Angel’s crew had retreated to their rooms for what was left of the night, after making plans to reconvene first thing the next morning to continue working on solving the Buffy problem.

 

Angel had gone into his office and closed the door -- or rather slammed it with an impatient growl of frustration -- to all appearances in full-on brood mode.

 

“Spike?” Lorne’s crimson eyes followed Dawn’s gaze upward. “Yeah, Sweet Pea…with you, and his terrifyingly overprotective sire, and the good witch Glenda all in his corner? The wicked bitch of the west doesn’t stand a chance. He’s gonna be just fine.” He was quiet for a long moment, before adding in a softer, more serious tone, “It’s just gonna take a little time, Honey. She just did a major number on him up there…messing with his mind, trying to prove how much control she still has over him…and as much as I hate to say it, it kind of worked. He’s been through hell, Sweetie, and that’s not the sort of thing you just get over overnight, you know?”

 

Dawn said nothing, taking in his words, staring toward the closed bedroom door upstairs with a heartsick expression in her wide, tearful blue eyes. Finally, she whispered an aching, fearful question in response to his words.

 

“Is it the sort of thing you get over *at all*?”

 

“Depends.”

 

“On?”

 

“Whether the person is strong enough -- and Spike is, even if he doesn’t see it right now. And…on whether or not you have the things you need to get past it. Support…security… love…that’s what Spike’s gonna need.” Lorne paused, a reassuring smile rising to his lips as he put an arm around the girl’s shoulders and gave her a wink. “And thankfully…that’s exactly what he’s got.”

 

************************************

 

“I’m a bloody ponce.”

 

Spike’s words were slightly muffled as they broke the stillness that had fallen between him and Tara, as he did not bother to raise his head from where it was pillowed on her chest before speaking. When his tears had finally ebbed, they had moved to the bed, where Tara lay down and pulled him gently down to rest against her, offering him the physical comfort of her closeness in addition to her words.

 

Tara was quiet for a moment, her fingers trailing slowly, soothingly, through his disheveled blond hair, stroking down across his forehead before moving through his hair again.

 

“I think we need a new rule,” she stated after a moment, her voice light and mild. “Nobody’s allowed to say bad stuff about Spike. Not when I’m around, because I like him, and I don’t like hearing bad stuff about him. Not even *from* him. ‘Kay?”

Spike did not respond, though he closed his eyes and swallowed hard, overwhelmed once more by her tenderness and the gentle way she had with him…both things that he no longer felt he deserved.

 

“‘Ponce’ *is* a bad thing, isn’t it?” Tara asked uncertainly when he did not answer her. “It means, like…wimp, or something…doesn’t it?”

 

Spike hesitated a moment, before replying in a low, hoarse voice, “Something like that.”

 

“See? I knew I didn’t like it. Because it’s not even true, anyway,” Tara continued. “Spike’s not that at all. He’s strong, and determined, and brave…brave enough to give his life for the people he cares about…and that’s all I need to know to know that I don’t ever want to hear anyone call him that again.” Her fingertips moved downward to tip his chin up, leading him to meet her eyes, and she gave him a gently teasing smile and wink as she added with false sternness, “Not even you, Mister.”

 

Spike’s gaze locked onto hers, softening with a sort of awed, wondering adoration. He could scarcely bring himself to believe that she was lavishing such concern and affection on *him*. The love, the genuine devotion in her eyes was overwhelming, everything he had longed to see in Buffy’s eyes, but never found there.

 

Unbidden, images suddenly flooded his mind of the Slayer, glaring at him with sheer malice and disgust in her eyes…degrading him with her words, her look, her touch… knocking him viciously to the ground beneath her, breaking and brutalizing him with her fists, her sex, until there was nothing left of him but her broken, devastated sex slave.

 

*That’s where you belong, Spike…* Her voice filled his head, echoing his own doubtful thoughts. *At my feet. You’re nothing…a monster…a slave…a whore…nothing but my whore to be used…and you’ll never be anything else, no matter how hard you try to pretend…*

 

The tenderness in Tara’s gaze was such a contradiction; Spike found that he couldn’t bear it. He looked away, his troubled eyes diverted to the bedspread beneath them -- but not before Tara noticed that the light had gone out of them.

 

“Spike,” she said in a voice that was both soft and firm at the same time. “Look at me.”

 

“I can’t.” The whispered words seemed to slip from his mouth before he could stop them, although he did not quite understand why he believed them.

  
With no judgment or reproach in her voice, Tara asked, “Why can’t you, Sweetheart?”

 

Spike kept his eyes downcast, swallowing back a sob as Tara ’s fingertips lightly stroked his cheek, silently reassuring him with physical affection while he tried to find the words to explain what he was feeling.

 

“I…I just…Tara…you look at me like…like I’m actually worth…” His voice broke off abruptly, and he shook his head, unwilling or unable to finish that thought. “It’s just…I don’t think you really know…I m-mean…you don’t see me for…”

 

His voice was barely over a whisper, and he struggled to get the words out while keeping some semblance of a rein on his emotions…until Tara gently placed the tips of her fingers against his lips, silencing his halting explanation. He uncertainly, reluctantly raised his gaze to meet hers, and the compassion he saw there drew his tears out to fill his eyes, as she leaned in to press a chaste, tender kiss against the fresh purple bruise on his cheek.

 

“I see you, Spike,” she whispered, drawing back again, but only slightly, so that mere inches separated their faces as she searched his eyes, admiration in her own. “I see you…better than you see yourself, right now. And what I see…what I see is amazing.”

 

As she spoke, her voice low and husky with subtle but rising desire, Tara leaned forward, her forehead resting against his, her breath quickening slightly as her eyes focused downward, on his trembling, parted lips. Spike felt his entire body tightening when the faint scent of her desire reached his nostrils, and he found that his own need more than rivaled hers.

 

*Dirty…worthless…soiled and broken…you’ll contaminate her, you disgusting little…*

 

Tara ’s hands on his arms tightened as she felt him tensing, beginning to pull away, and pulled him firmly back toward her.

 

“No,” she objected sternly in a hoarse whisper. “No, Spike, don’t you listen to her! I know what she told you, but it doesn’t matter now…it was all lies, Spike. All of it…you’re so incredible…I just wish…I wish you could see…”

 

Spike’s voice broke with his resolve, as he replied in a voice that was almost a sob, “I wish I could… Tara , I can’t…”

 

“If you could see yourself…through my eyes, Spike…God, Spike…” Tara whispered, sounding breathless as her hands softened on his arms, trailing up and down, her own lips parted and softly panting now, her eyes darkening with desire. “I just…I wish you could…could see…”

 

Her voice trailed off as Spike unintentionally shifted closer to her, his lips a bare inch from hers now, as he whispered barely audible words of pleading invitation, wide blue eyes gazing up at her, full of a raw, aching need for affirmation that only she could fulfill.

 

“Show me…”


	53. Chapter 53

Tara's eyes went wide as she stared down into trusting, crystal blue ones, wondering if Spike was really asking for what it seemed like he was asking of her. It was clear in an instant, obvious by the way his eyes kept alternating between gazing with mingled uncertainty and longing at her lips, and meeting her eyes with a deep, desperate adoration...the way his hands clung to her arms, running slowly up and down, caressing her, holding onto her, as if she was his very last hope.

And in some ways...she was.

She wasn't sure she wanted to be.

Given the circumstances, and all that he had been through...was she even *capable* of being what he needed in order to get through this?

"Spike," she whispered, shaking her head slightly, the beginnings of a dismayed frown creasing her brow. "Spike...Sweetheart...are you...are you sure...?"

"No," he admitted readily, dropping his gaze and shaking his head, his hands stilling on her arms, but not holding her any less tightly. "No, Tara, I'm *not* sure. How could I be, of anything, after...I...I'm not sure of anything," he concluded, looking up into her eyes again with only the slightest tremor in his voice as he added in a voice of breathtaking need and desperation, "But I *want* to be! And Tara, I'm startin' to think that in this whole bloody world, you're the only thing I'll ever be...ever be sure of again. *Please*, Tara..."

"Spike," Tara whispered. "You can't...can't just look to me, to...to...I'm not sure that I can..." Her faltering explanation fell short, she knew, but she couldn't seem to get the words she needed out...couldn't bring herself to admit to the trusting, adoring creature before her that she wasn't quite sure she could be the salvation he saw in her.

She finally gave up and finished softly, "I'm just not sure that...that...that the timing's right, you know? After everything...are you sure this is really what you want...now?"

Tara saw the brief flash of hurt, of rejection, in the vampire's eyes, before he looked away again, speaking in a low voice designed to disguise his emotions as he uneasily let go of her. But there was no concealing the sick sense of shame, the false conclusion he had reached that yet again, he had been found unworthy.

It was a conclusion that she could not allow to remain.

"Right, love. It's...it's not the time or place. S-sorry. Not hardly decent of me. Didn't mean to..."

His disappointed words of acceptance and apology were at once engulfed in the sweet intensity of Tara's soft lips, covering his and stilling his reluctant objections as her arms slid around his waist, pulling him closer to her. Spike went very still for a few moments, before easing into the kiss, his hands sliding tentatively back around behind her to embrace her while his mouth hungrily drank in the warmth and affection of that tender kiss.

"Spike," Tara whispered, drawing back with an effort, her breath coming in shaky, rapid pants now, despite her efforts to control her desire. "Spike...are you sure? I don't want you to...I mean...if you're not...Do you really *want* to do this? Now?"

Spike studied her expression for a long moment, searching for...something -- through the haze of physical and emotional arousal that surrounded her, Tara couldn't quite place what it was -- before nodding slowly.

"Yeah," he replied in a hoarse whisper. "Yes, Tara...I...I want to..."

"Only if you're sure, Spike," Tara insisted, gently brushing a hand through his disheveled hair, tenderness and concern in her soft gray gaze. "I only want to do...what you want to do."

Spike's acute senses told him that that was not quite true.

Tara wanted *him*...and badly.

And after all that she had done for him...Spike was willing...more than willing, desperate in fact...to give her exactly what she wanted.

"I'm sure," he whispered. "Tara...you've...you've done so much for me...you've...g-given me my life...my freedom...back again."

His voice became husky and enticing as he pressed a tender kiss against the column of her throat, and she tilted her head backward in an instinctive reaction, giving him better access. Encouraged by her reaction, Spike swallowed back his rising anxiety, trying to focus on Tara and her pleasure.

*Shouldn't be that hard, should it, mate? This is one thing you *know* you're good at.*

"Anything, Tara...anything you want, love..."

*Something's not right,* Tara realized through the fog that clouded her mind, though she couldn't find the focus to figure out what it was. *Something's...not...*

His cool hands trailed down from her arms to her hips, as he softly mouthed her silky skin, trailing downward to the low neckline of her blouse, his tongue darting out to lightly caress the soft, sensitive skin at the top of her breast.

"You deserve...everything I can give you, love..." Spike's voice shook with emotion, his hands trembling as he moved down the bed, edging nearer to her center, now sodden with the physical desire that he was so expertly awakening in her.

Again, those alarm bells went off in her head, but she couldn't figure out what about his words was so troubling. When his hands found the top edge of her skirt, gently pushing downward just slightly, coherent thought became even more difficult.

"Spike," Tara gasped, warring impulses vying for influence within her, as her body demanded the promised fulfillment it desired, while her mind struggled to put the pieces together and figure out what was wrong. "Spike...wait..."

"I want...whatever you want, Tara..." Spike's words were barely audible, floating up to her through the haze, as his cool breath tickled the sensitive flesh between her hips.

And suddenly...she knew.

"Spike," she gasped, her hands blindly grappling for his and pulling him off her, pushing him slightly back as she sought his gaze with alarm. "Spike! Wait!"

He immediately froze, looking up at her with startled eyes, holding just a trace of fear. He pulled his trembling hands back quickly, unsure what to do with them for a few moments before wrapping them around himself and averting his eyes, visibly closing in on himself as he shook his head, his breath speeding slightly with his distress.

"I-I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Tara, I-I didn't mean to...to do it wrong...I mean...I-I'm s-sorry..."

"No, no," she hurried to head off his false assumptions, gentle hands pulling him back up the bed and toward her. "Spike, no...that's not it...come here, Sweetie...come here..."

Spike seemed shaken by her perceived reproof, and far too submissive for her liking, as he obediently moved closer to her, though still not daring to raise his eyes to hers. She was quiet for a moment, searching for the words to voice her concern, without causing him any further humiliation, as she wrapped one arm around him, the other gently stroking up and down his arm in a calming motion.

Finally she said in a quiet, even voice, "You don't have to do anything just because you think it's what *I* want."

Spike looked up at her with a trapped expression, shaking his head emphatically and insisting, "No...I wasn't..."

"Spike," Tara cut him off, her voice stern and gentle at the same time. "Don't. I'm not stupid. Okay? I may be a -- very, very confused -- lesbian, but...but I do know how these things work, Spike. And I know that you're not...um...not very into this..."

Spike had no answer for that, his eyes downcast once more and his face coloring with embarrassment. As close as their bodies had been moments before, he should have known better than to think that Tara would have failed to notice his lack of sexual arousal.

Deeply dismayed and ashamed by the thought that he had unintentionally rejected her, Spike quickly stammered out a struggling explanation, "Tara, it's not...I mean...I just...I don't know if I'm..."

"Ready."

Spike hesitated, before nodding a reluctant admission. "I'm sorry," he whispered, a note of despair in his voice. "Tara, I'm so sorry, I just...I can't even bloody well do *this* right, after...bloody..." His words broke off abruptly, and he tried to turn away, his shoulders shaking as he tried to repress his overwhelming confusion and shame.

“Shhh,” Tara soothed him, pulling him gently into her arms, guiding his head to rest against her shoulder as she soothingly stroked through his hair. “Spike…you didn’t do anything wrong…okay? It’s not that, not at all…it’s just…I only want to go as far as you are comfortable going…”

*You *have* no say in this, you pathetic little scum! You are *mine*, and I’ll do what I want with you, when I want to do it, and you have *nothing* to say about it!*

“But…”

“No buts,” Tara cut him off firmly. “This is not about me. Not about what I want. This is about you, Spike, and what I want to do for *you*, okay? And I want to *love* you through this, Sweetheart. That’s all I want…”

*All you need to think about…ever…is what *I* want. What can you do to make *me* happy, so I don’t decide to find more interesting ways to entertain myself. Do you understand me, Spike? I said *do you understand me*!*

“Well,” Spike murmured, not looking at her, his voice hoarse and troubled as he struggled to focus past his own painful memories, “that’s not…*all* you want, love…I know that much…”

“Okay, yes, I’m…unbelievably attracted to you, which, your being a man…um…anyway, I *am* attracted to you, Spike, I can’t deny it. But more than that…I *love* you. And more important than any physical attraction we might feel…”

*You stupid, pathetic little nothing. You can’t even get it up for me anymore, is that it? I always told you that you aren’t a man at all and this just proves it! Well, I know how to take care of *that* little problem, you stupid whore. You are going to be ready for me whenever I want you, do you understand me?*

“…more important than what you think I deserve…” Tara continued gently, holding him close as her soft words fell against his skin, tender and patient and intimate. “To me, it’s all about what *you need*. Do you understand? I want to be what *you* *need*.”

Spike found that he could not speak, his heart overwhelmed with the conflicting emotions within him, as Tara’s tender words of affirmation and reassurance gradually began to drown out the echoes of Buffy’s cruelty -- of the brutal lies she had told him, over and over again, until he had come to accept them as truth.

“Spike?” Tara’s concern was evident in her voice, as she placed a tender kiss against his throat. “You okay?”

He nodded against her shoulder, simply to assuage her fears.

In truth, he had no bloody idea whether or not he was okay.

“I’m sorry if I’ve…if I’ve made things more confusing for you, Sweetheart,” Tara went on, kissing down the line of his shoulder as she spoke. “I wasn’t trying to. I just…I’ve never known anyone as amazing as you are, Spike.”

*Pathetic…worthless…useless for anything but…*

His damaged mind automatically rejecting the words, Spike shook his head against her, whispering in desolation, “No…no, I’m not…”

*You weak, pathetic, ugly *monster*…you don’t even deserve to exist, Spike…I’d stake you right now if I didn’t enjoy you so much…*

“Incredible, Spike. That’s what you are,” Tara insisted. “Strong…and beautiful…and amazing…”

“I’m not…I’m…”

Tears sprang to Spike’s eyes, as Tara’s hand trailed down his arm, to entwine with his, raising it gently to her lips and kissing it softly. “You can’t see it, Spike. We can never see ourselves as clearly…but…you’re worth so much more than the lies she told you. And if it takes forever…”

*If it takes forever, you little idiot, I am going to teach you your place! I’m gonna get it through that stupid head of yours sooner or later that you will *never* escape me! Never, no matter how far you go…*

“If it takes forever,” Tara repeated firmly, a frown of concern creasing her brow as she felt Spike’s tremors increasing, knew that he was waging an internal war in which she played no part. “I’m going to prove it to you, Spike. I’m going to prove to you that you are good…and beautiful…and *worthy*.”

*You only exist to make me happy…you’ll never be free again…you’ll never be anything but my slave…*

“You *deserve* to be happy, Spike. To be loved. To be free. And you will be. You’re already on your way there. And every step of the way…I’m going to be right here,” Tara whispered, slowly, tenderly kissing his hand before releasing it to gently tilt his chin up, seeking his gaze. “Holding your hand…walking right with you…if you want me to.”

Spike reluctantly met her eyes, tears streaking his face, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. He instinctively knew that in this moment, she was talking about far more than friendship -- and what she was offering him seemed far greater than anything he could ever deserve.

“I *love* you, Spike,” Tara declared, and the knowing nod of her head as her eyes locked with his told him again that she was meant it far more deeply than he would have imagined. “I love you. And as long as you’ll have me…I’ll be with you.”

*I’ll never leave you, Spike…you’ll never get away from me…*

Tara’s hand steadied on his cheek, her eyes growing serious, and some shift in her mood drew his attention in, centered it on her in a way that had not been before. Her voice was low, solemn, and tinged with an anger that did not frighten him…for he knew it was not directed at him…when she spoke again.

“I know she’s still in there, Spike,” she whispered, stroking her fingertips across his brow. “I know she’s still lying to you…every minute…telling you you’ll never be good enough…never get away…” She was quiet for a moment, her fingertips tracing across his trembling lips, wiping a tear from his cheek as she continued, “But you’re not alone with her anymore. Because now…I’m there, too.”

The tremendous sense of relief that washed over Spike nearly overwhelmed him, and he felt himself on the verge of both breaking down and soaring in joy, as Tara held his gaze, leaning cautiously, slowly toward him to capture his lips in an infinitely tender, gentle kiss.


	54. Chapter 54

Angel sat in his office, pretending to do paperwork and research and such, but really doing nothing more than shuffling papers and books around on his desk. The sounds from outside his office had died away, and he knew that everyone else had gone to bed. Every now and then he glanced with irritation upward, in the direction of the stairs, before sighing and returning his badly fragmented attention to his desk.

 

Despite his knowledge that Spike trusted Tara more than anyone right now…despite the fact that his childe was perfectly safe in the bedroom upstairs with her…Angel could not escape the overwhelming desire to go to his childe, to protect him somehow.

 

Or perhaps it was *because* of that last fact…Angel really wasn’t sure anymore.

 

*He’s where he wants to be…she can help him more than you can right now…just…just leave them alone…* his better judgment advised him.

 

Casting better judgment aside, Angel rose abruptly from his chair with a frustrated growl, and threw open the door to his office, heading toward the stairs.

 

********************************

 

In the moment when Tara’s soft, warm lips covered his with tenderness and compassion, Spike thought that he had never been so happy.

 

Of course, after weeks of savage torture and degradation, the slightest shred of affection and hope was enough to bring about a state of near-euphoria.

 

In the past, Spike had been accustomed to being the one to initiate any sort of tenderness in his physical relationships. He had experienced the misfortune of consistently finding himself in relationships with partners who saw fit only to use him, to hurt him for their own pleasure and the gratification of their needs. To be actively cherished, to have such affection lavished upon him, was an entirely new feeling for Spike, and one that he never wanted to let go of.

 

He felt a deep trembling sensation in his stomach, a sense of nervous apprehension, as if at any moment he might find this sweet comfort and closeness torn away from him. Without realizing it, he pulled Tara closer to him, returning her kiss with a desperate intensity.

 

“Tara,” he gasped, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers when she pulled back to draw a breath. “Tara, please…please…”

 

“What, Sweetheart?” Tara whispered breathlessly, her soft gray eyes searching his expression with concern. “What is it? Please what?”

 

“D-don’t…don’t l-leave me…”

 

“Never,” Tara replied without hesitation, one hand resting firmly on the back of his head in an intensely personal, possessive gesture that was reassuring rather than threatening. “Never, Spike. I’m not going to leave you…”

 

“Love you,” Spike whispered, relief nearly overwhelming him with her words. “Love you s-so much, Tara…”

 

“I love you, Spike,” Tara echoed. “I love you…and I’m here for you, as long as you want me, Sweetie…”

 

Spike nodded eagerly, his eyes still closed, his head bowed slightly as he breathed out the words, “Want you…y-yes…want you, Tara…”

 

Tara responded to the clear invitation in his voice, leaning in to kiss him again, tenderly, but with a passion and intensity that she had rarely felt before. When she felt his shaky, tentative hands slipping cautiously upward to rest at her hips, however, Tara mentally checked herself, aware that he was still nervous and uncertain.

 

The last thing she wanted to do was to pressure Spike into something he didn’t really want to do, and she knew that the overwhelming sense of gratitude he felt for her might prevent him from speaking up.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispered, her hands descending to cover his gently. “It’s all right, Spike…you don’t have to…”

 

“W-want to, Tara…want to…to be with you…” Spike murmured, venturing a soft, tentative kiss against the column of her throat, eliciting a quiet gasp, before Tara managed to regain control enough to pull slightly away from his mouth‘s tender caress.

 

“Only as far as you’re ready, Spike,” Tara insisted gently but firmly. “Nothing more. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

 

“I-I know,” Spike assured her softly, his eyes downcast as he drew back away from her for a moment, his hands still clutching her close to him, resting at her hips. “I just…I want to…to be what *you* need, too, Tara. You’ve just…you’ve done so much, and I just…have to…I can’t just bloody take and take from you and not…”

 

“Hush.” Tara’s firm yet kind voice stilled his protests, and he looked up at her uncertainly as she went on, “Of course you can, Spike. You’ve given for long enough…and now it’s time for you to get something back. Okay? It’s all right for you to just…to *need* right now, you know? That’s okay. You’re a giver, I know that. You just accept it when the person you care about hurts you or uses you or is unfair to you, because you believe so strongly that they *need* you, even if they don’t see it…that they’d fall apart, destroy themselves, without you there to help them. And you’re usually right.”

 

Spike swallowed hard, unable to meet her gaze in the face of her painfully accurate assessment, fighting back the tears that filled his eyes, unwilling to let another one fall, when she had already been witness to so many of his emotional breakdowns.

 

Tara’s voice was hushed, affectionate, as her soft fingertips gently caressed his cheek, tracing lightly across his parted lips. “You deserve to be the one who’s cared for and looked after for a change, Spike. You need that right now…and you have the right to need that. You have the right to *ask* for that…to expect it. And it’s exactly what I’m going to give you, Sweetheart.”

 

Spike looked up at her, awe and adoration in his troubled, conflicted eyes. “Tara…that means so bloody much…you’ve no idea, love, but…but, vampire here…I *know* that you…you want more from me. I can sense it…and…and I want to…”

 

“I can wait…”

 

“But you shouldn’t have to…”

 

“No,” Tara cut him off firmly, her eyes blazing with that familiar smoldering anger, that expression of righteous rage that he knew was not directed at him, but at the one who had broken him. “See…that’s where you’re wrong. I most definitely *should* have to wait, until you are ready, Spike…because it’s *your* choice how far you want to go. You have the right to make that choice.”

 

“B-but…” Spike stammered, looking away again, shaking his head in confusion, his eyes full of a haunted dismay, his damaged heart unable to accept that he was worthy of such consideration. “But Tara…I’m not even…I mean…I’m not hardly good enough…”

 

“I don’t care what you are, Spike. I don’t care what you’ve done,” Tara interrupted, one hand firmly cupping his cheek, tilting his head upward toward her and refusing to allow him to look away from her again as she told him what she knew he needed to hear. “You have the right…*always*…to decide what you want to do with your body. Do you understand me? *Nobody* has the right to try to push you into…”

 

“I…I know you’re not trying to push me, Tara,” Spike insisted, his voice a low, hoarse whisper. “B-but…but what if you don’t want to…I mean…what if you…get tired of waiting?”

 

Those hushed, fearful words, an open and painfully honest admission of Spike’s terrible insecurity, tore Tara’s heart to pieces in her chest. Tears fell from her eyes as she leaned in close, holding his gaze intently until the last possible second, when her mouth met his in a slow, deliberate, thorough kiss.

 

Spike responded hungrily, desperately, his hands at her hips moving slowly, caressing her body as he turned them slightly in an attempt to reverse their positions, to take the upper hand and give Tara the pleasure he so completely believed she deserved from him. In his painful experience, a kiss was never simply for the sake of the kiss. It had always been a sign of his partner’s desire for more from him.

 

And despite her arguments, Spike was determined that Tara would have what she desired from him.

 

Tara was just as determined that she would not…not yet.

 

Not until Spike was really sure that he was ready to give it.

 

Blindly, her hands fumbled for his, gently catching them, pulling them away from her body and raising them to meet, locked with hers, between their bodies…all without breaking the tender, intimate kiss they were sharing. Then, slowly, she pulled back, the warm smile of affection on her face reassuring him from his ever-present fears that he had yet again done something wrong, made some mistake that had caused her to withdraw from him.

 

Her eyes searched his for a long moment, reflecting a sorrowful understanding that made him want to look away. Tara was too perceptive, saw too much of his pain and shame, for Spike to feel comfortable meeting her knowing gaze. He was deeply ashamed of what he had become, and terrified that Tara was only deceiving herself about her feelings for him. When she realized how thoroughly broken and damaged he really was, how far beyond repair…she would run in the opposite direction.

 

Tara knew that he believed this…and had to make him see that it was not so.

 

“Look at me, Spike.”

 

The ingrained habit of obedience was too strong to allow him to refuse, and Spike reluctantly raised his eyes to hers, finding himself reassured and comforted in spite of himself by the love and patient understanding he saw there.

 

“No one in your whole entire life has ever been willing to wait for you before, have they, Spike?” Tara observed, shaking her head in regretful disbelief. “Never. You’ve always been made to believe that…that you’re not good enough, somehow. That if you don’t give someone exactly what they want, exactly when they want it, you’ll be abandoned…or worse.”

 

Spike closed his eyes, but not before his tears had escaped them, swallowing back a hard, painful knot in his throat, his own bitter pain of over a century of rejection and abuse. He felt once again that he could not bear to face her…until her whispered words stunned him into staring.

 

“I’ll wait for you, Spike…as long as it takes…I’ll wait for you.”

 

Disbelieving, confused, Spike shook his head. “But…but Tara…I…I’m not even sure…it could be…could be months…years…I’m not even bloody sure I’ll *ever*…”

 

“You will,” Tara assured him. “But if you never do…I’ll still wait. I’ll be whatever you need me to be for as long as you need it. Because I love you, Spike. I love you, and that’s what you do when you love someone.”

 

Spike’s shoulders shook as his emotions overtook him, and he bowed his head, a cry of confused feelings…relief, gratitude, shame, disbelief…torn from his throat in a hoarse sob.

 

“*Why*? Why, Tara? Why should you…why would…?”

 

Tara’s hand slid around to rest at the back of his head, running soothingly through his hair as she leaned forward until their foreheads were touching, and whispered her response, sincere and honest and full of a longing and love that even Spike’s skeptical heart could not deny.

 

“Because you’re worth it, Spike,” she told him. “You deserve it…and you’re worth the wait.”

 

Spike just stared at her in awe for a few long moments, and Tara watched as the adoration in his eyes visibly deepened. “Tara,” he whispered finally, his voice thick with emotion. “Love, I…”

 

Suddenly, the door slammed open with a loud bang…and Tara watched with dismay as, for the moment at least, all her progress was undone. Spike flinched violently, closing in on himself and drawing away from her across the bed, wide, panicked eyes locked onto the doorway…

 

…where Angel stood, his dark eyes flashing with flecks of gold, glaring at them.

 

“What’s going on?” he practically growled when he saw his childe’s state, and of course misunderstood it. “Spike, are you okay?”

 

Spike was obviously trying to calm himself, now that he mentally knew there was no threat, but his physical reaction of fear was a bit slower to fade. He nodded rapidly, his shoulders slumping with mingled relief and shame, his arms crossed over his chest in a defensive gesture as he reluctantly allowed Tara to put her arms around him again.

 

“He was!” the blonde witch snapped at Angel, her eyes narrowed in anger. “What do you think you’re doing, Angel? My God, don’t you have *any* common courtesy? Or sense, for that matter? After what he’s been through, you have the *nerve* to do something like this?”

 

Feeling more than a little defensive…not to mention possessive…Angel retorted in a low, dangerous voice, “I could say the same to you, you…you…”

 

“You might not wanna finish that sentence, mate.”

 

Both Tara and Angel turned surprised expressions on Spike, who was giving his sire a warning glare.

 

“Excuse me?” Angel sputtered in disbelief.

 

“You heard me, Peaches. You haven’t said it yet, but I’ve got the basic bloody idea of what you were gonna say…and I’m telling you that if you’d like to keep all your bits intact, you might not wanna say it.”

 

Tara felt an exultant thrill at the first real aggression she had seen from Spike in far too long, but she kept quiet, not wanting to make him self-conscious and cause it to come to an abrupt end.

 

“You can’t hurt me,” Angel blurted out, aware as soon as he said it that it sounded far more petulant and defiant than he would have liked. “No violence in here, remember?”

 

“Right,” Spike drawled in a voice that sounded wonderfully like himself before Buffy had so shattered him. “But you and me both know, we won’t always *be* in here, will we? And unless you want to have to worry about the bloody implications of *that* for awhile, you‘d best watch what you have to say about my lady.”

 

There was a tense moment in which neither vampire seemed willing to give any ground…before Angel finally, visibly wilted, his shoulders slumping as he released a heavy sigh.

 

“I’m sorry,” he admitted, his tone completely changed. “I didn’t mean to…I mean…I guess I just…wanted to be sure you were okay, and then…when I saw…I guess it just…took me off guard, is all. I’m…sorry…and…and…”

 

His voice trailed off as he realized all at once that neither Tara nor Spike was even aware that he was talking at all.

 

Tara was staring at Spike with elation and wonder, unbelievably thrilled with what he had just unintentionally revealed; and Spike was gazing into her eyes, just processing what he had said himself…and more importantly, the manner in which he had said it. And behind the wonder, the awe, in their eyes, was a rising mutual desire, strengthened by his momentary assertion against his sire, in defense of the woman he loved.

 

“Spike,” Tara whispered. “You’re amazing…you know that?” Her voice was low and husky, heavy with affection and desire.

 

“It’s you,” Spike insisted in a tone of wondering surprise, as if stating some great revelation that had just come to him that moment. “You bring it out of me, love. You make me…you make me feel so bloody…” He shook his head, at a loss, and then decided that where words could not suffice, he would have to find another way to show her what he meant.

 

He leaned in to capture her lips once more in a slow, tantalizing kiss…the first that he had initiated between them.

 

Angel stood in the doorway, blinking at the increasingly intimate tableau before him for a moment, before clearing his throat and trying again to gain their attention, if only briefly.

 

“Okay, so, um…I’m sorry, and…and you guys seem a little…preoccupied, so…so I’m just gonna…go. Now. And…I’m sorry. I’ll just…see you guys tomorrow. Or maybe a month or so from now…however long it takes to get over the…the humiliation. Okay. I’ll just be…leaving. Now. Goodnight.”

 

Not surprisingly, neither Tara or Spike responded to his rambling speech.

 

Giving up, fully aware that they had not heard a word he had spoken, Angel left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, leaving his childe and his new-found love to quietly revel in the beauty and peace of simply cherishing one another as he returned to his office and closed that door much less quietly.


	55. Chapter 55

_He wasn’t quite sure what awakened him from the peaceful slumber he had fallen into, wrapped in Tara’s embrace._

 

_Suddenly, with a jolt, he was sitting upright in the bed, feeling a heavy sense of dread for which he knew no reason. He glanced to the side to see the blonde witch he had fallen in love with, lying there sound asleep with a contented smile on her face. He looked anxiously around the darkened room, but his enhanced vampire sight did not take in any possible cause for the subconscious alarm that had shattered his sleep._

 

_Swallowing back the fearful knot in his throat, Spike lay back down and nestled in close to Tara, feeling a wave of relief as, in her sleep, she wrapped her arms gently around him and pulled him in nearer. He rested his head against her breast, breathing in her comforting scent, which had become so dearly familiar to him over the past few weeks._

 

_“Shhh,”he heard her murmur as her chin rested lightly on the top of his head, “It’s okay, Baby…it’s okay…I’m here…”_

 

_Spike’s stomach dropped as her voice shifted, changing, to become that of another, his mouth going dry with terror as she used a term of endearment that Tara would never have used with him, well aware of the demeaning connotations it now held in Spike’s mind._

 

_Only Buffy called him “Baby”._

 

_He tried to pull away from her as he raised his head to meet the glittering green eyes of his abuser, but Buffy only held him tighter, her lips tightening in a cruel, determined smile as she rolled them so that he was pinned beneath her on the bed. He struggled frantically to free himself, but she caught his wrists, holding them down on either side of his head, apparently effortlessly._

 

_“Tara! Angel!” Spike cried out desperately, his voice hoarse and breaking with his fear. “Help me! *Tara*!”_

 

_Buffy laughed, a rich, dark sound that filled his head as well as the room. “Scream all you want, Spike,” she taunted him as she brought his wrists together over his head, pinning them with one hand. “Nobody can help you. It’s just you and me here, Baby…you’re all alone…”_

 

_“No, no!”_

 

_Spike sobbed out the word, despairing, as she ran her newly freed hand slowly, casually, down his side, and he realized suddenly that he was naked. Somehow, both the blankets and the clothes he had been wearing had vanished completely, and he was bare, vulnerable and exposed to her every whim._

 

_“Yes, Spike,” she sneered. “You’re mine…you’ll always be mine…and it doesn’t matter what they tell you…doesn’t matter if they say you’re safe…they can’t keep me away from you. I’ll always find you, Baby.”_

 

_“Please,” Spike sobbed, uselessly struggling to free himself as her hand gradually shifted lower, becoming more invasive, more controlling. “Please, stop…don’t…”_

 

_“I’ll always find you, Spike…no one can help you…”_

 

_“No, no, please…stop it! Stop, please…”_

 

*************************************

 

“Spike! *Spike*, wake up! Come on, Sweetie, wake up, it’s just a dream! It’s just a dream, Sweetheart, come on…”

 

Tara’s anxious voice, her gently shaking hands, broke through the nightmare images that imprisoned him, and Spike sat up abruptly with a sharp cry of fear, his hands instinctively shoving her away from him.

 

“Stop,” he gasped out, scrambling back against the headboard, his breath coming in rapid, shallow pants. “Stop, don’t…”

 

“Spike, it’s me, its just me,” Tara reassured him softly, edging cautiously near enough to touch him again, her hands gently seeking his. “It’s Tara, Sweetie…it was just a dream.”

 

He stared up at her, trapped between the world of his dreams and reality, for a long moment. He glanced away, noting the faint glimmer of light filtering through the curtains, revealing that morning had come. He looked back at Tara, and finally, he seemed to really see her, his expression becoming clearer, as he echoed her words in haunted desperation.

 

“Just a dream? Just…just a dream…yeah…” His words trailed off in a breathless whisper as the hands that had pushed her away pulled her desperately close again. “Tara,” he gasped. “Tara…”

 

“It’s okay,” she whispered back, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude as he allowed her close again. “It’s okay, Sweetie, shhh…”

 

The quiet, respectful knock on the door drew both of their attention reluctantly, as Tara called out softly, “Who is it?”

 

“It’s Angel,” a rather uncomfortable voice spoke from the other side of the door. “We need you guys downstairs when you get a chance. Wes found something.”

 

*******************************

 

Half an hour later, Spike and Tara were seated comfortably on the circular sofa in the lobby, one of her arms wrapped around his waist, the other hand locked with his in her lap. Angel and his crew were gathered in the room, though Dawn was still asleep, and they had felt it was wiser to leave her so, until they knew exactly what it was that Wesley had discovered.

 

Spike felt a bit safer, though the vivid images from the nightmare still filled his mind, with the echo of Buffy’s menacing words.

 

*It’s just you and me here, Baby…you’re all alone…*

 

Tara’s gently squeezing hand drew back his attention, and let him know that he had given away his fear in some way. He forced a brave smile for her benefit, nodding as she mouthed the words of reassurance to him.

 

“Just a dream.”

 

He settled in against her again, and they both turned their attention back to Wesley.

 

“After the events of last night, I’ll confess,” the ex-Watcher spoke with a little grimace, “I didn’t sleep well. Couldn’t sleep at all, actually…so I continued my study on the ritual Buffy performed…the one involving the…the mark?” As he spoke he glanced toward Spike…and then, quickly away again uncomfortably.

 

“And you found something?” Tara asked, catching his eye and locking onto his gaze with her own. “Something useful?”

 

“Well, I do hope so,” Wesley nodded tentatively. “I have conclusively determined precisely what ritual she used…and I believe I’ve located the reversal for the ritual, as well. The problem is…both rituals involve very dark, very ancient magicks…nothing that a Slayer would typically be invoking. And the reversal spell…well, it’s in what appears to be an archaic demon language. Fortunately, I believe I’ve seen it before, and I was able to make out portions of the ritual…but I’m going to need a bit more time to complete it.”

 

“More time…or maybe help?” Tara suggested thoughtfully.

 

All eyes turned toward her, Angel’s with a particular interest, as they waited for her to go on.

 

“I don’t know if Buffy and the others…well, they might not have contacted Giles, in England. Either way…I think we should call him. I think…I think he might help,” Tara explained. “And…no offense, Wesley, but…he’s got a few years on you in the area of researching these things. Maybe he knows more about this particular language.”

 

“Perhaps,” Wesley conceded with a nod. “That might be wise.”

 

“What if he just takes Buffy’s side automatically?” Angel pointed out with a worried frown. “I mean…it’s not a bad idea, Tara, but…if he doesn’t believe us, we could end up worse off than we are right now. If we have to deal with Buffy *and* the Watcher’s Council…”

 

“Well, it’s not like we’ve really got to hurry at this point, is it?” Cordelia pointed out. “With the sanctuary spell in place, it’s not like she can hurt anybody. We’re safe as long as we stay inside, right? So…we can take our time and be sure we’re making the right decision about involving Giles.”

 

“Good point,” Angel agreed with a nod. “It’s something to think about…but…we need to be sure before we make the call.”

 

“So…what *could* you tell about the ritual, from what you could read of it?” Tara asked softly, idly reaching a hand up to run gently through Spike’s hair as she spoke to Wesley.

 

She was acutely aware of the tension in his slight frame, the tremors that coursed through him every few minutes, and she knew that whatever his nightmare had held, it was still with him now, still consuming his thoughts and keeping him quiet and distracted throughout the conversation that was so vital to his future, more so than for any of the rest of them.

 

Tara was so concerned that she had to pull her own focus back onto the conversation as Wesley began to answer her question.

 

“Well, I’ve managed to decipher the ingredients required for the reversal. Most of them are fairly standard items, usually available in your typical authentic magic store. However…one vital ingredient may be a bit…well, harder to procure.”

 

“What ingredient?”

 

Wesley hesitated, drawing in a deep breath before he replied, “The blood of the one who cast the original spell.”

 

“Which in this case is a lethal weapon on legs who also happens to be a psycho,” Gunn pointed out flatly. “Good luck getting that one, guys…”

 

“Especially with her friends around her, one of whom is very proficient in magicks herself,” Wesley agreed with a grim nod. “We can’t harm her within the building…and can’t safely attempt to do so outside.”

 

“Well, the good news is that as long as Spike stays inside, she can’t use the blood bond to hurt him…can she?” Fred hesitantly put in, glancing between Tara, Wesley and Angel for the answer.

 

“No,” Angel confirmed. “She can’t. So…we’re kind of at a stalemate here.”

“Well,” Wesley sighed, “I’ll continue my research, see if I can translate any more of the text.”

 

“I’ll help,” Fred volunteered with a bright smile, jumping up from where she sat cross-legged on the floor…unaware as she did of the elated look of adoration on the former Watcher’s face.

 

As the Angel Investigations crew began going about their business, Spike turned toward Tara, meeting her concerned gaze with troubled blue eyes. In response to the silent question in his eyes, she wrapped her arms around him tighter, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple as she did her best to soothe him.

 

“It’s gonna be okay, Spike,” she whispered. “She can’t touch you in here, okay? She can’t touch you. You have to remember that.”

 

Spike nodded shakily, swallowing hard, apparently unable to find words at the moment.

 

“Okay,” Tara nodded in response. “I’m gonna see if I can do anything to help with the research. You wanna…?”

 

“That’s okay, love.” Spike shook his head. “I just…think I need to…to be alone for a bit, yeah? You do the…book thing, and I’ll just…I’ll just go back upstairs.”

 

Tara frowned as he gently disentangled himself from her embrace, sitting up straight on the sofa for a moment, before rising to his feet and heading toward the stairs. “Spike…are you sure?”

 

“Yeah,” he assured her with a smile over his shoulder that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll…I’ll be fine, love.”

 

Tara hesitated as he continued on, but decided not to stop him. If he needed space right now, then she didn’t want to crowd him, to force upon him comfort that would only prove to be counter effective.

 

The problem was…she wasn’t sure that Spike *knew* what he needed right then.

 

*******************************

 

Spike walked into the darkened bedroom at the top of the stairs without bothering to turn on the light, closing the door quietly behind him and pausing there for a moment, catching his breath, before moving slowly toward the window. The curtains were drawn, leaving only a slight sliver of light to filter through, and making it safe for him to move nearer to the window.

 

He sat down in the chair beside it, staring out into the sunlight blankly. He wasn’t sure what was the best thing to do, or even what he should feel or think anymore. He felt safe in Tara’s presence, most of the time, but even in his sleep, he could not escape the agony of his past with Buffy. He wanted so much to believe that he would be able to eventually move past this…but the way he felt right then, it didn’t seem possible.

 

He would always be haunted by her.

 

Suddenly, a familiar scent filled his senses, and he felt a chill of terror run down his spine as he heard a single soft footstep behind him. He tried to turn around, but found to his horror that she was standing far too close to allow him much freedom of movement at all. One perfectly manicured, slim hand rested on the windowsill, hemming him in, as she leaned in close behind him, soft blonde hair brushing against his throat as she whispered.

 

“Hey, Baby.”

 

Spike wanted to cry out in fear, but found that his throat felt constricted, and he could not seem to make a sound. He reminded himself desperately that she could not actually hurt him, not here, not now. She hadn’t actually touched him yet, and he reassured himself with that knowledge.

 

She hadn’t…because she *couldn’t*.

 

The only place she could still hurt him was in his dreams…and this was most definitely real.

 

But that comforting thought had barely crossed his mind, when Buffy spoke again softly in his ear, familiar words that chilled his already cool blood with a sudden understanding.

 

“Scream all you want, Spike. Nobody can help you. It’s just you and me here, Baby…you’re all alone…”


	56. Chapter 56

Tara dutifully took a book from the enormous stack Wesley had laid out of possible sources that might have some shred of information on the sort of ritual Buffy had performed. However, it didn't take long for her to realize that as far as research went, today…she was pretty much useless.

She and Fred sat alone at what had once been the Hyperion’s registration counter, poring over ancient texts, while waiting for Angel, Gunn, and Wesley to return with food for the group. Ordinarily a meal run would not have required three experienced fighters…but ordinarily, there was not a psychotic Slayer lurking somewhere near the hotel, just itching for a chance at the violence that was denied her inside.

Tara sighed as she laid the book face down and open across her lap, glancing anxiously toward the stairs in a dilemma of indecision.

Spike was alone up there.

*But should he be?* she wondered, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. *He *said* he wants to be alone…but does he really? And even if he wants it…is that what he *needs*?*

Tara leaned forward, lowering her head into her hands and rubbing her eyes as she tried to collect her thoughts, tried to think back to a time in her life when she had been struggling with issues very similar to what Spike was experiencing now.

It was not difficult.

There were times when she closed her eyes, completely unsuspecting, only to find her mind bombarded with nightmare images, horrific memories of abuse she had suffered at the hands of a man she should have been able to trust with her life. She knew the feelings of despair, worthlessness, shame, that Spike had to be feeling now.

She knew to what desperation those feelings could drive a person.

As she glanced up the stairs again, she realized with a heavy heart that it was quite likely that Spike was just tired of being the focus of everyone’s attention. He had been so thoroughly berated for so long, brainwashed into believing that he was not worth all this trouble, all the effort the others were going to in order to save him. As reassuring as the whole team effort was to Tara, it had to be terribly uncomfortable for Spike.

Tara knew that feeling…and she was determined, no matter how long it might take, to gently drive it out of the vampire that she loved.

Setting the book back on the counter in front of her, Tara rose to her feet.

"Everything all right?" Fred asked softly beside her, glancing at her from over the tops of her glasses, and Tara was suddenly aware that the girl had been discreetly watching her for the past few moments, taking in her fidgeting and obvious anxiety.

"I think so," Tara murmured a distracted response, her eyes focused on the stairs which would take her to her destination. "I just…I can’t be here, right now. I’m sorry, Fred, but…but can you handle the research thing? There’s something…something I should be doing, right now…"

Fred gave her a knowing, compassionate smile, nodding encouragement as she spoke with a teasing, lilting Southern drawl, "Then whatcha doin’ hangin’ around here? Get on up there where you belong!"

Flashing the little brunette a warm, grateful smile, Tara left the counter and headed up the stairs.

***********************************

Spike stood frozen with terror, agonizingly aware of the Slayer’s warm body behind him, so terrifyingly close, just barely not touching him. Her hand resting idly on the windowsill blocked him in, preventing escape, as he could not so much as push her away, not with the anti-violence spell in place throughout the hotel.

He felt her lips turn up into a cruel smile, nearly brushing against his ear as she whispered in a tone that was a mockery of affection, subtle menace veiled in gentle familiarity.

"Keep your mouth shut, Baby. If you make a single sound…"

Spike’s heart leapt up into his throat as the Slayer’s hand on the windowsill shifted slightly to brush against the curtain, running down the edge of it and pushing it back just a fraction of an inch…just slightly widening the thin strip of deadly sunlight that was filtering through the curtains, moving it a tiny bit closer to his trapped form.

"Wonder if I could get away with that?" Buffy mused, cruel amusement in her voice as she whispered against his ear. "I’m not technically touching you, am I? Nothing violent in opening a window, is there?"

Spike’s breath was coming in harsh, ragged pants by now, and he flinched as she stroked the heavy fabric idly between her fingers.

"Turn around," she ordered softly, still not touching him at all.

She didn’t have to.

Thoroughly trained to obedience, Spike reluctantly turned around as she had commanded, cringing when the movement brought him into brief contact with her, and she laughed softly at his obvious distress.

He hated the idea of both leaving his back to the window, and bringing himself face to face with a nightmare he had longed never to see again...but he had no choice. Spike was acutely aware of Buffy’s hand behind him, still toying with the curtain, her other hand braced against the wall near his head, still refusing to allow him to gain the distance he so desperately craved.

Her cold emerald gaze locked onto his, and a slow smirk rose to her lips as she spoke again, her voice low and taunting.

"You see, Spike?" she murmured. "I could kill you right now, sanctuary spell or not. You are *mine*, Baby…and I’ll do what I want with you. Are you starting to get that yet, Spike? Are you starting to understand?"

Automatically, Spike nodded, his gaze lowered, tears slipping from behind thick, dark lashes as he swallowed back a sob of despair.

"I don’t have to touch you to make your life a living hell," Buffy continued, her voice hard and menacing now as she went on, "How’ve you been sleeping, Baby? Huh? Nightmares been keeping you awake?"

He looked up at her again sharply, his eyes wide with confusion.

Buffy smiled triumphantly. "You’re welcome," she quipped, a cruel satisfaction in her eyes. "See…this stupid spell keeps me from using the bond to hurt you…in any way that involves touching you…but…it can’t protect your mind, Spike." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I can’t touch you…in the flesh…"

Her free hand drifted downward, hovering a fraction of an inch from his hip for a moment before ghosting over his back, his butt, never quite touching, but leaving no doubt as to her intentions, as she leaned in close, smiling as he flinched back against the wall, but could not escape her nearness, as she whispered her conclusion in his ear.

"But we’ve always got our dreams…haven’t we, Sweetheart?"

Spike broke down at that, his shoulders shaking with sobs that brought the Slayer great amusement. She chuckled softly, knowing that she had gotten her point across; he was finally realizing that he was hopelessly trapped. If Buffy could use the bond to invade even his sleep…then his fears were proven to be reality.

He could never escape her.

Her voice was low and threatening, all humor swallowed up in deadly serious command, as she snarled next to his ear, "You’re going to walk out of here with me right now, aren’t you, Spike?"

He hesitated, feeling sick at the thought of walking back into the hell he had so recently escaped. He desperately longed to call out for Tara to help him...but how could she? No one could lay a hand on the Slayer, any more than she could lay a hand on them.

But she could still hurt *him*.

She just had to wait for him to fall asleep.

And in his dreams, she would not have the limits forced upon her that she had in real life -- the limits that prevented her from damaging her toy *too* badly, for fear of destroying him for good.

She could literally do *anything* to him in his dreams.

"*Aren’t* you?" she repeated with a menacing snarl, slamming her fist into the wall beside his head, a restrained blow that nevertheless left a crack in the plaster.

Spike flinched violently, wincing as his head knocked back against the wall, before lowering his head and nodding quickly, his heart breaking within him as he gave up. "Y-yes," he whispered. "Yes, Buffy…"

His tears blinded him as she raised a hand toward his face, in a parody of an actual caress, never quite touching him, but he cringed back anyway, sickened and terrified by her touch. Her eyes narrowed in menace and her hand closed into a fist; his heart leapt up into his throat and he struggled to remember that she could not actually strike him.

*No, no, please...God, *Tara*, please...*

"You got a problem with my touching you, Baby?" Buffy asked in a deadly, silken voice, her fist opening again and her fingertips tracing the air a mere breath away from his cool, trembling lips.

*Yes, yes, don't touch me, don't hurt me, no, no, *no*...*

Spike shook his head, beyond words, out of his mind with terror.

"Good," she smiled. "Good boy. Now…"

*Please, no, please, can't go back, can't...Tara, Tara, *please*...*

"*Now*, you’re going to get the hell away from him!"

Spike had never felt such relief and elated joy to hear Tara’s voice. Fresh sobs nearly overtook him again, for a completely different reason, his shoulders slumping and his hands rising to cover his face as the blonde witch stalked toward them, her usually soft grey eyes hard as flint and sparking with fury.

Buffy looked up at her over her shoulder, but did not move away from Spike, smirking at Tara as she challenged, "Make me."

Tara’s eyes flashed with frustration, but then her jaw set as she strode toward the Slayer, determination in every facet of her expression and carriage as she raised a hand toward Buffy’s face without hesitation, brushing it across her cheek before the girl had time to even process what she was doing, murmuring a Latin word under her breath in a low, grim tone of voice.

"*Patesco*."

Alarmed, Buffy flinched backward away from the witch’s hand, stumbling a few steps backward in an automatic attempt to escape whatever spell Tara was attempting to cast. Immediately, the blonde moved protectively between the Slayer and the vampire, standing bravely in front of him and glaring at Buffy.

"What the…what did you…" Buffy gasped, her hand rising to her face, feeling it cautiously. She frowned in momentary confusion when nothing seemed to have happened, her arm lowering to cross with the other over her chest as her smirk slowly returned. "Anti-violence spell, remember, Tara? You can’t hurt me."

Tara shrugged, returning Buffy’s smirk with a cold smile of her own. "Oh, well," she replied carelessly. "It was worth a shot."

Buffy tried to look past Tara, to catch Spike’s eye, but the blonde carefully shifted with her, refusing to allow her the access she wanted.

"Spike," Buffy spoke softly, a deadly quality beneath the apparent gentleness of her voice. "This doesn’t change anything…"

Tara felt her anger rising again as she felt Spike tremble behind her, and she took a step forward toward the Slayer, stating firmly, "You’re not going to get anywhere with this, Buffy. You’d better just leave, now."

Buffy hesitated, trying once more to catch Spike’s nervously averted gaze, her attempt once again thwarted by his defender. "Fine," she relented at last, unconcerned. "I’ll go. I’m done here, anyway." She paused, before adding in a voice full of hidden meaning, "I’ll see *you* tonight, Baby."

Muttering a poorly pronounced Latin word of her own, Buffy took a handful of sparkling purple powder from her pocket, throwing it on the ground at her feet. It let off a sudden burst of sparkling smoke, and when it cleared…the Slayer had vanished.

*Courtesy of my ex-girlfriend, no doubt,* Tara realized grimly.

But she had no time to consider the ramifications of Willow’s careless use of magic. She turned her attention on the shaken vampire behind her, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close, whispering shushing sounds in his ear. He was shaking violently, clinging to her for dear life, hoarse, nearly hysterical sobs choked off in his throat as he struggled to maintain some semblance of control…and failed miserably.

"S-stupid soddin’ spell," he gasped out between sobs, his head pressed against her shoulder. "No bloody violence…works both ways…"

"I know," Tara murmured soothingly. "It’s okay, Spike…"

"Wish it’d...l-let you hurt her…let you *kill* her," Spike whispered, a bitter, desperate hatred in his voice for the woman who still managed to devastate him so easily, without even touching him. "Wish your spell’d worked."

Tara just held him close, running a gentle hand up and down his back in an effort to calm him, glancing back toward the door with a secret smile of knowing triumph as she whispered her response.

"I wasn’t *trying* to hurt her…and I’m pretty sure it did work."

*******************************

 

"Well, I’m pretty sure you’d freak out, too, if some monster kidnapped *your* little sister!"

"I’m just saying," Anya argued, a bit defensive in the face of her fiancee’s obvious anger at her words about Buffy. "She’s acting really weird. I’ve seen the kind of freaking out you’re referring to…and this is *not* it. And why did she want to go over there, and all by herself, too? What’s that about? Something is seriously wrong with her!"

"Nothing is wrong with her!" Willow declared, indignant. "Anya, will you get over it? This is just plain old human emotion we’re dealing with here…something you obviously know nothing about!"

"Hey!" Anya objected, hurt in her voice. She looked toward Xander to come to her defense, but his eyes were carefully averted, staring down at his fingers, nervously drumming on the table in front of him. "That’s not fair!"

"Maybe not, but it’s true," Willow retorted, no small resentment in her voice. "There is nothing wrong with Buffy!"

"Hey, guys."

The trio seated at the table looked up as the Slayer suddenly appeared in a puff of silvery purple smoke. As it faded away, revealing her to their sight, she went on casually.

"*What’s* wrong with me again?"

Her words were met with no response, and she frowned at the startled, horrified expressions on the faces of her friends, openly staring at her.

"What?" she demanded. "What is it?" She reached up to self-consciously touch her face again, wondering anxiously if Tara’s spell had had some sort of delayed effect on her, but everything felt fine. "What’s wrong with you guys?"

"Buffy?" Xander whispered hoarsely, his eyes wide and terrified as he rose from the chair where he was seated, stumbling backward toward the front door of the hotel room. "Buffy?"

"Yeah, I’m Buffy," the Slayer stated in a slow, overly patient voice, raising an eyebrow in her friend's direction. "What’s wrong with you, Xander?"

"Buffy," Xander shook his head, aghast, fumbling at the door and finally managing to open it. "What’s wrong with *you*?"

"What’s…" Buffy echoed, confused, shaking her head. "I don’t get it, guys…what’s the matter?"

She stared at the three of them in alarm as they all made their way cautiously toward the door, as if she was a wild animal that might attack them at any moment. The matching expressions on their faces of mingled horror and shock sent a shudder of fear through her, and sent her suddenly rushing for the bathroom mirror.

Her eyes went wide with horror at what she saw.

Her face, which had felt perfect mere moments before, was a mass of blackening, bloody, decaying flesh. Her eyes were fathomless black pools, full of a malevolent pleasure so dark, so boundless, that it was frightening even to her…and she had seen a lot of evil in her years as the Slayer.

But she had never seen it staring back at her through her own eyes.

She reached up again, shaking her head in revolted denial, touching her face frantically…and feeling only smooth, unblemished skin, soft and perfect and whole as it had been before she had entered the Hyperion.

"It’s a trick," she whispered, her voice trembling with relief, her legs quickly following. She clutched the counter in an effort to hold herself up, reassuring herself in a quiet, shaky voice of desperation, "It’s a trick…some kind of…illusion…it’s not real…" Her voice rose, nearly panicked, as she rushed out of the bedroom. "It’s not real! It’s not real, it’s just a trick, guys, you’ve gotta…"

Her voice trailed off as she blinked in surprise, taking in the empty hotel room, the door left open in her friends’ haste to get away from the horrifying image she had presented. She rushed frantically after them, running out to the street…just in time to see Xander’s car pull away from the curb, his tires squealing in protest as he sped away from her as fast as he could go.

********************************

 

Fifteen minutes later, the doors to the Hyperion flew open with a crash, and Fred and Wesley, who had returned with the others from getting food for the group, looked up in surprise -- and suspicion -- at the little group who huddled just inside the door, varying degrees of shock and terror on their pale faces.

Not knowing where else to go, the Scoobies had fled to the one place they thought they might find help.

The Hyperion.


	57. Chapter 57

"I’ll n-never escape her, Tara."

"Shhh," the blonde witch soothed Spike gently, one hand running slowly up and down his back as she held him close to her. "Shhh, it’s all right, Sweetheart. She can’t touch you, Spike. She can talk -- but that’s *all* she can do…"

Spike raised his head from her shoulder, wide troubled eyes locking onto Tara’s in fear as he shook his head. "But it’s *not* all she can do, Tara!" he insisted, his voice trembling with fear. "Sh-she can use the blood bond to…to control…"

"She can’t, Spike," Tara argued firmly. "She can’t do anything…"

"…m-my dreams."

The blonde fell silent, her eyes going wide with startled dismay at the vampire’s quiet confession. She stared at him for a long moment, her mind racing through the various terrible implications of his words. She felt sick to her stomach as she thought of the level of torment the Slayer could still visit upon her broken victim, if even his sleep was not safe from the terror of her.

"Sh-she…she made me have…the dream I h-had earlier. She did that," Spike continued, his voice sounding small and frightened in the stunned hush that fell between them. "She… she can do whatever she w-wants to me…in my dreams…and…and the sanctuary spell doesn’t stop her..." A grimace of shame twisted his features as he bowed his head, adding in an aching whisper, "I...I know it's j-just a bloody dream, Tara, but...but it *feels* so...so..."

"Shhh," she soothed him, running a hand through his hair in a comforting gesture as she leaned in to brush her lips across his cheek in a chaste kiss of affection and reassurance. "I understand, Spike...I know...it's okay..."

He tensed for just an instant at the intimate contact, before letting out a frustrated sigh at his own reaction, rolling his eyes and shaking his head with a weak attempt at a laugh, before lowering his eyes again, finding it difficult to look at her, in the face of his own weakness.

Tara was quiet for a moment, her knowing eyes taking in the heartache, the desolation in Spike’s downcast gaze, easily perceiving his panic and despair at the thought that when he had believed himself to be reasonably safe, he was still actually at the nonexistent mercy of his abuser; and added to all of that, his unreasonable shame at those feelings...at his own weakness.

Without a word, she put her arms around him again, holding him tight as he choked back sobs, struggling to hold back his reaction of fear and hopelessness. One arm wrapped firmly around his waist, while her other hand rested at the back of his head, running comfortingly through his hair as she whispered soothing words in his ear.

"We’ll find a way to stop her, Spike. Wes has found the ritual to break the bond; we’ve just got to finish the translation, and…"

"…and find a way to get her soddin’ blood, too," Spike reminded her, shaking his head against her shoulder in dismay. "With the bloody Scoobies all around he and helpin' to protect her…how in the world are we supposed to…?"

"*Spike*."

He stopped, looking up reluctantly at her firm voice, his eyes wet with tears, silently pleading with her to offer the hope that he could no longer hold onto on his own.

"We *will* find a way," Tara stated with firm conviction. "I promise you, Spike. We will find the way to break her hold on you. We’re not going to give up…*I’m* not going to give up on you; you mean too much to me, Sweetheart. But…but *you* can’t give up, either. Okay?"

Spike hesitated, but then nodded bravely, encouraged in spite of his fear by her supportive words. "Okay," he whispered, resting his head on her shoulder again, drawing in several deep, ragged breaths in an attempt to steady himself and regain his composure. "Right."

"Hey," Tara pressed him after a few moments, a gentle hand at his shoulder pushing him back and forcing him to face her. Only once her solemn grey eyes had locked with his did she speak again, her voice low and just a bit stern. "One more thing…I know that I can’t possibly understand how hard this is going to be for you to get through, and I want to give you everything you need to get through it. I understand that sometimes you’re going to need space, just to deal with everything."

She paused, holding his gaze as she added in a tone that allowed no argument, "But that’s too bad. You can’t have it."

Spike blinked at her, startled by her blunt words, and a bit taken aback by the unusually authoritative tone of her voice.

Apparently, Tara was a bit surprised by it herself, looking a little chagrined as she amended, "Well, maybe you can, if we’re very careful. The next time you do, though…you’re just going to have to find a place where you can be apart from things while remaining within my sight. I’m not going to give her the chance to do that to you again, Spike. Do you understand?"

Spike nodded silently, aware that her slightly severe manner was only due to her desire to protect him.

"Okay," Tara nodded too, satisfied, as she raised a gentle hand to touch his cheek with concerned affection. "We’ve got to be careful, Sweetheart, until we’ve figured out how to stop her for good. If she tries to hurt you again, she‘s going to have to deal with both of us, because I am *not* leaving you alone again."

Spike nodded slowly once, subdued and accepting of her decision, as he looked up at her again with an expression of awe in his eyes. The total trust he held for her at this point had taken him completely by surprise...but he had somehow found himself in a place where the only constant that he had to hold onto was her.

And in this whole terrible, horrific mess, that was the one things that felt...okay.

"All right," he replied quietly to her decision, nodding as he lowered his eyes again. He paused for a moment, silent, thinking. Then, he asked softly, in a mildly sarcastic voice of defeat and resignation, "You gonna join me in my dreams, then, too, love? 'Cause that’s where she’s most likely to come looking for me next."

Tara felt her stomach drop with the sudden realization that he was right. Buffy had found a way to attack Spike from which she had no way to defend him.

*Unless…*

A sly smile spread across her face as she replied slowly, "Maybe so, Spike. Maybe so…"

Spike frowned in confusion, shaking his head. "Tara…what…?"

Tara was quiet for a moment, her mind processing the idea that had just occurred to her, excitement gradually rising up within her as she began to put together a plan to save Spike from Buffy’s latest attack. Her eyes were wide and glittering with anticipation as she looked up at the blond vampire and opened her mouth to explain her idea…only to see that he was completely distracted already, apparently no longer concerned with her cryptic words.

In fact, his attention seemed riveted toward the door, his stance tense and anxious.

"What is it?" Tara asked gently, reaching out a reassuring hand to rest on his arm. "What’s wrong, Spike?"

Spike just shook his head, stepping cautiously nearer to the door, listening closely.

"Scoobies," he finally replied in a whisper, turning wide, fearful eyes on her in a silent question. Tara watched in dismay as he began to shake slightly, his tired muscles taut and strained with the fear of what Buffy’s friends might be doing here…and whether or not they were alone. "Downstairs."

Tara’s eyes widened as she followed his gaze to the thankfully closed door, then slowly looked up at him again, studying his expression before making a decision.

"Come on," she instructed gently, taking his hand and moving toward the door.

When she felt his resistance, saw the frantic shake of his head as he met her eyes with a pleading expression bordering on panic, Tara squeezed his hand gently, moving to face him, her other hand running soothingly up and down his arm.

"Would you rather be down there with me? Or up here alone?" she asked him simply, an apologetic look in her eyes as she hoped that her point would be clear to him.

It was.

Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, Spike turned slowly toward the door again, visibly steeling himself to walk through it and down the stairs.

"Come on," Tara repeated more softly. "I’ll be right with you, Spike…every moment."

*****************************************

 

Fred and Wesley stared at what was left of the Scoobie gang somewhat suspiciously as the door slowly fell shut behind them.

Wesley took a moment to compose his words before addressing them in a cool voice of restrained impatience. "May I ask what you think you are doing here?"

The little group of humans huddled near the front door of the Hyperion seemed skittish and subdued and just generally all-around terrified…and that was *before* the large, dark vampire emerged from his office with a low, threatening snarl.

"What the *hell* are you doing in my hotel?"

Angel stalked toward them swiftly, his every movement speaking of fury and power and predatory grace. His superior size left the remaining Scoobies huddling back against the door, despite their knowledge that within the walls of the hotel, there was nothing the vampire could do to physically harm them.

"A-angel," Willow stammered, her emerald eyes huge and solemn as she took a hurried step backward at his approach. "We just…we need…help…"

"Huh," Angel retorted softly, his eyes narrowed and flashing with anger. "Funny how when Spike asked *you* for help, you wouldn’t listen. Now, suddenly, *you* need help, and…"

"Technically," Xander interrupted a bit shakily, holding up one finger to emphasize his point. "Spike…never…actually *asked* us…"

Angel’s low growl of warning cut off his weak argument, as Anya hissed through clenched teeth, "Xander…Sweetie…not helping…"

Aware that the entire encounter was quickly spinning in a dangerous direction, Willow suddenly blurted out, "Something’s wrong with Buffy!"

Angel turned his attention toward her, blinking in momentary surprise…before a bitter smirk twisted his lips and he laughed harshly.

"You idiots are just now figuring that out?" He paused, shaking his head, his voice rising with anger as he restated, "She rapes and tortures and…and *brutalizes* my childe for weeks, you guys are faced with the rock solid evidence of it and still take her side, and *now* you suddenly get the fact that something’s wrong with Buffy?"

Xander and Willow both flinched at Angel's harsh words, expressing images of their friend that neither of them was willing to accept. Willow drew in a sharp breath, shaking her head in silent denial of Angel's accusations, but she dared not say a word.

"Well, technically," Anya spoke up this time with an apologetic grimace, "I…kind of knew before…"

"Ahn…" Xander shot her a spitefully sarcastic smile as Angel gave her a dark glare. "Not helping."

"Why should we believe you at all?" Wesley suddenly asked from behind Angel, a suspicious frown on his face. "After you’ve made it quite clear which side you’ve chosen in this, how are we to know that this is any more than some sort of ruse designed to trap us into inadvertently giving up Spike, Tara, and Dawn to Buffy’s devices?"

"Where *is* Buffy?" Fred asked, and Angel turned toward her, startled by her pointed question, to see alarm in her enormous brown eyes.

"We don’t know, honest!" Willow insisted. "We…we ran…she was…my God, Angel, something is seriously wrong with her! She turned into…some kind of monster!"

"Yeah," Angel agreed, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest as he added flatly, "A long time ago, actually."

"No, she means *physically*! She…changed," Xander explained. "She was…" He couldn’t suppress a shudder as he shook his head, unable to find words to describe the way his friend had looked the last time he had seen her. "Angel," he started again, a pleading note to his voice that he had never directed at the souled vampire before, "we’re for real, man. Something is seriously wrong with her. We…we need your help."

Angel simply stared at him skeptically for a long moment, uncertain.

"Angel," Willow attempted, urgency in her voice. "Something has obviously…I don’t know…taken her over or something. Maybe that’s why she…why she did those things to Spike, you know? Buffy’s our friend, no matter what’s happened to her…and we want to…to change whatever’s happening to her. We want to *help*. Please…please believe us, Angel…we need you…"

There was a tense moment of silence following the redhead’s impassioned plea, while Angel struggled against his natural tendency to kick them all out on their fickle little human rears. After all, he had to admit, having Willow on *their* side rather than Buffy’s couldn’t help but be to their advantage.

It was possible that it was a trick…but…Angel had seen a century and a half of various human emotions, and was quite skilled in the art of reading people.

And there was pure, unadulterated terror in the eyes of these three humans...not to mention the fact that the stench of it was rolling off them in waves.

"You said she looked…different?" Fred asked, moving closer to the group with a curious expression on her face. "Different…how? What was wrong with her?"

No one spoke for a long moment, as each of Buffy’s friends tried to find the words to describe the horror of her appearance…and failed.

"I don’t know," Willow whispered, her eyes welling with tears. "It was like…like nothing I’ve ever seen, Fred. It was just like…all the evil that I’ve ever seen…*ever*…all of it, right there on her face. It was…dark, and…and cold…and…"

"…and inside her."

The small group assembled near the door turned in surprise at the sound of Tara’s voice from the landing, where she and Spike had just appeared. The blond vampire was hanging back slightly, his head bowed, his eyes averted from the faces of the humans who had borne witness to his shame and suffering, and yet shown so little compassion for his plight; but his hand was clasped tightly in Tara’s, and though he appeared to want nothing more than to flee, he bravely stayed where he was.

No one said a word, expectant, anxious faces turning toward the blonde witch who seemed to know the answers to their questions.

"What you saw," she clarified, taking a step nearer to them, and leading Spike in her wake, "was the evil that’s inside Buffy right now. It wasn’t…wasn’t really her *physical* face…but it was really *her*."

Willow frowned as she studied the face of her former lover. "I…I don’t understand."

"She was in our room," Tara stated, her soft grey eyes flashing with righteous anger. "Earlier, tonight. She couldn’t touch Spike, because of the spell, but she was sure doing her best to scare the crap out of him. I walked in on them, and…and told her to get the hell away from him."

She felt Spike’s hand tighten uncertainly around hers, and she pulled him gently forward, closer to her, until she could put her arm around his waist in a gently possessive gesture. The act alone spoke clearly of her feelings for the vampire, and the status of their relationship, but Tara felt the need to offer no further explanation to the Scoobies for her actions or her words. She and Spike were undoubtedly together now, and though it was not exactly anyone else’s business, Tara was in no way ashamed of that fact…and she wanted Spike and everyone else to know that.

"I did a spell," Tara confessed, no apology in her strong voice as her eyes spanned the group. "To…to reveal the truth of her nature…her true face…to anyone who looks upon her. So that…so that all of you could see past her lies to the…the darkness she’s been hiding."

"But…but that’s not Buffy," Xander objected, his eyes wide with dismay. "Tara, something had to have gone wrong with the spell…because we *know* Buffy, and that’s not…not *her*!"

"Maybe it wasn’t," Tara conceded softly. "At one time. But…but it is now."

"But…how is that possible?" Willow argued, shaking her head. "I mean…when did this happen? What…what changed her, to make her…?" Her voice suddenly trailed off, and she drew in a sharp breath, dawning horror rising in her eyes as she turned them on Tara, a stricken expression on her suddenly ashen face.

"*You* did, Will," Tara whispered, sympathy in her eyes as the truth occurred to her as well, in spite of the rising anger she felt toward her former lover as her part in all of this became clear. "You did…when you brought her back."


	58. Chapter 58

**You* did this, Will…you did…when you brought her back…*

 

“Okay, I know you’re not happy with my doing magic, Tara, but this is *not* my fault!” Willow objected after a long, tense moment as they all took in the weight of Tara’s softly spoken accusation. “I didn’t do anything to make Buffy…to make her look like that…to make her do those things…”

 

“*If* she even did them,” Xander pointed out. “I’m still not convinced that that…that thing we saw in there even was Buffy!”

 

“Of course it was Buffy!” Tara snapped, clearly outraged by his words, before turning back toward Willow with just as much force. “And I am *not* just talking about how she looked! I just told you what made her look like that! *I* made her look that way…but all I did was to make what’s already there on the inside show on the outside! If you guys still can’t accept that…”

 

“Tara,” Willow broke in, shaking her head, her wide eyes glistening with tears, “it *is* a little hard to accept. Surely you can see that…”

 

“Yeah,” Xander agreed, his eyes narrowed and openly hostile as he glared past her at the blond vampire behind her. “And it’s a lot to take on faith, too,Tara, especially if we’re taking *his* word for it! I mean, come on…she hasn’t actually done anything to hurt anyone except Deadboy here, right? So how do we really know…?”

 

Stunned by the calloused nature of Xander’s comments, Tara glanced anxiously at Spike, who was standing a bit off to the side, looking very uncomfortable. His eyes were downcast, his arms crossed defensively across his chest, and she turned just in time to catch his slight flinch at Xander’s hostile words.

 

It was enough to infuriate the blonde witch who loved him.

 

“Should it matter who she hurt, Xander?” Tara demanded. “Isn’t it enough that she’s done those things to *anyone*? Spike is a person, too, whether you think so or…”

 

“Spike is a *monster*!” Xander declared, moving forward and glaring at Tara defiantly, his dark eyes daring her to argue the point. “He’s a murderer who’s killed hundreds if not *thousands* of people, and he tried to kill Buffy a dozen times before she ever *touched* him! You wanna talk rape and torture? He’s done the same thing over and over again for the past two hundred years! Just ask him and *see* if he denies it, because I know he did, and if you ask me at this point he deserves anything he gets!”

 

Tara was about to rise to Spike’s defense again, when the vampire surprised her by speaking up softly, his voice low and hesitant as he put in humbly, “I…I haven’t…haven’t hurt anyone…not for years…”

 

“Because of the chip,” Xander pointed out, his eyes narrowed and his voice full of seething disgust. “Because you *can’t*.”

 

“That’s n-not true…”

 

“Yes, it is, Spike.” As he spoke, Xander stepped past Tara, moving into Spike’s space as he continued in a cold, spiteful tone, “You’re nothing but a vicious dog on a leash, and sooner or later you’re gonna break it! Somebody’s gotta keep you under control, and if you ask me, whatever Buffy has to do to keep you leashed is fine by me!”

 

“Get away from him!” Tara commanded, her voice low and authoritative as she grabbed Xander’s shoulder and spun him around, pulling him away from Spike with a physical strength that she did not ordinarily possess.

 

Xander stumbled to a stop a few steps away, staring between Tara’s face and her fingertips, which were still covered in glittering little sparks of electric magic, the magic she had used to make her strong enough to put a stop to Xander’s bullying. His eyes were wide as finally met her eyes accusingly.

 

“What…what did you do?”

 

“Magic,” Willow answered for her ex-girlfriend, a smug little smirk on her lips, and Tara felt a hot rush of uncomfortable shame flood her cheeks at the insinuation in the redhead’s tone. “Thought it was too dangerous to be using so carelessly, Tara?”

 

“I…I wasn’t being careless,” Tara retorted quietly. “I didn’t even…I mean…”

 

“It wasn’t intentional,” Anya supplied helpfully with a knowing smile. “Magic’s like that. If you use it on any kind of a regular basis at all, when your emotions are high…well, it makes you that much more powerful.”

 

“Anyway,” Tara continued, clearing her throat, “that’s not the point. The point is that he’s been through enough and you are going to *back off*! The point is stopping Buffy before it’s too late!”

 

His eyes widening in alarm, Xander took a hasty step backward as Tara moved deliberately between him and Spike. Still, he stubbornly argued, “The point is *helping* Buffy get back to herself again! I am *not* doing this for him!”

 

“Okay, okay!” Angel broke in, stepping forward in preparation to separate the angry boy and the witch who appeared ready to turn him into something extremely unpleasant. “Let’s everybody listen to the guy who actually lives here for a second, okay?”

 

A bit taken aback, Tara and Xander both turned their attention on the dark vampire, as did the others in the lobby.

 

“If we can help Buffy, we will. Of course we will,” Angel stated quietly but firmly. “The problem is, at this point…that may not be possible.”

 

“We’re not going to just…just give up on her!” Willow exclaimed, outrage in her voice. “She’s saved us so many times! We can’t just…just let her go…”

 

“That’s what you should have done a long time ago, Willow,” Tara retorted, her voice trembling with anger. When the Scoobies turned toward her, a single stunned question in their eyes, she continued in a softer voice, not without compassion, “Yes. She saved us all, more than once. And the last time she did…she paid the ultimate price.” She paused a moment before adding, “And you should have let her be.”

 

“You mean just…just *let* her stay dead?” Willow was incredulous, her eyes welling with bitter tears as she shook her head in denial.

 

“*Yes*.”

 

In the stunned silence that followed, Angel took up where she had left off. “I think what Tara’s saying is…Willow…it kind of looks like…whatever you brought back…isn’t the Buffy we all knew. And…and loved. She’s not…not herself. Not…*complete*.”

 

“Buffy was a hero,” Tara stated firmly. “There’s no disputing that. But…but I think she came back wrong, Willow. I think there were some very…very vital parts that got…left behind in that resurrection spell. And now…we may have no choice but to just…just put things right again. The way they were, before…”

 

“‘Put things right’?” Willow echoed in disbelief, her voice shaking now with rage. “You’re talking about…about killing her again as *putting things right*? How can you even say that?”

 

“Maybe it was just her time, Will. You can’t play God! You can’t just change things because they don’t turn out how you want them! Buffy gave her life to save ours…and maybe that’s what was *supposed* to happen! Did you ever think about that?” Tara argued, her voice rising with the intensity of her emotions.

 

“No, actually, it never crossed my mind!” Willow snapped. “I was more thinking about how I could rescue my best friend from some kind of terrible hell dimension. I wasn’t focused so much on the philosophy of whether or not it was meant to be!”

 

“Glory’s portal killed her…but you destroyed her.”

 

The low, anguished voice drew the attention of everyone in the room to the blond vampire who had spoken, finally raising his eyes from the floor to give the redheaded witch a piercing glare. Willow stared back at him, stunned by his accusation, too shocked to respond as he went on.

 

“She was a hero…you should have let her stay that way. What she is now…you’ve turned her into…into a bloody monster.”

 

“Look, this is *not* my fault!” Willow insisted, tears streaking her face. “I’m as much for stopping Buffy as you are, Tara; we can’t let her stay this way, I know that; but…we don’t even know for sure if that’s what happened! This is all…all guess work!”

 

“No, Willow,” Tara said softly. “It’s very obvious. You just don’t want to see it.”

 

There was a long, tense moment of silence, before Angel spoke up again in a carefully calm voice.

 

“You guys need to come into my office. After what you saw…well, Wes has been doing some research, trying to figure out for sure what went wrong with Buffy, and it might help him to talk to you guys, find out exactly what you just saw. And maybe…maybe hear about the…the resurrection spell you guys did.”

 

As the rather subdued Scoobies followed Angel reluctantly toward his office, Tara drew in a deep shaky breath as she turned toward Spike. She took a step closer to him…and then faltered slightly, stumbling. He moved forward quickly and caught her in his arms, a concerned frown creasing his brow, his own discomfort immediately forgotten in the face of her weakness.

 

“Tara?”

 

“I’m okay,” she insisted, forcing a smile though she was clutching his arms for support, and her forehead had broken out in a cold sweat. “I’m okay, I’m just…just tired…”

 

“Was it the magic?” Spike asked, a faint smile beginning at the corners of his mouth, in spite of his worry for her, as he added, “‘Cause those were some right impressive fireworks, love. Hate to be the one they were aimed at, m’self.”

 

Tara returned his smile, beginning to feel her strength returning slightly. “Never happen,” she assured him warmly, before giving a little half-shrug and admitting, “I guess it took a little bit out of me. Anya was right, I didn’t even really mean to…but I guess I’m just not as powerful as Willow is yet. And…and maybe I don’t really want to ever get there, but…but I’m glad she’s on our side now.”

 

Spike’s smile faded as he searched her eyes anxiously, and asked simply, “Is she?”

 

Tara’s troubled grey eyes followed the little group just disappearing into Angel’s office, before meeting Spike’s questioning gaze again. “I hope so.”

 

She frowned when Spike looked down again, swallowing hard as his eyes focused on the floor at her feet. “Me, too,” he whispered. “Uh…we should check on the Bit. See if she’s…”

 

“She’s sleeping,” Tara assured him, a bit distractedly, far more focused on his state of mind than on Dawn at the moment. “It’s late, Spike, and she’s exhausted. She’s been sleeping a lot these past few days. It’s a…a defense mechanism.”

 

“Yeah,” Spike nodded, still refusing to look at her, a bitter smile twisting his lips as he added, “For some.”

 

“Hey,” Tara spoke in a soothing tone, raising a gentle hand to cup his cheek, silently encouraging him to look at her. “What is it, Spike? What’s wrong?”

 

“I just…I…” Spike shook his head, apparently unable – or unwilling – to find the words to answer. Finally he managed to get out in a whisper, “I just think…he had a point, yeah? The whelp. Not that it makes me like him any more, or agree with him exactly, it’s just…I did all that, once upon a time…like he said. She’s got to be stopped; she’s power-mad. Who knows who she’ll hurt next? It’s just…maybe he’s right. Maybe I do…do deserve…”

 

“*No*,” Tara cut him off, anger rising in her voice, though she wasn’t exactly sure just with whom she was angry. “No, Spike, don’t even say that! I don’t care what you’ve done…who you were…you could *never* have done enough to deserve what she did to you, do you understand me?”

 

Spike nodded half-heartedly, but Tara got the impression that it was simply because he knew it was the response she wanted. She knew that no words she could say in that moment would serve to better convince him of his own worth; so she would have to settle for showing him what he was worth to *her*.

 

“Come here,” she whispered huskily, her hand sliding around to cup the back of his neck, pulling him in for a slow, thorough kiss.

 

He tensed for just a moment, betraying months of savage conditioning, before yielding tentatively to her kiss….and then, finally, responding to it, his own hands rising to cup her face, steadying her as his head tilted slightly, his mouth hungrily searching hers for the affirmation, the assurance, he craved.

 

When she finally pulled away, resting her forehead against his, they were both breathless. Her hand played gently through his hair as she opened her eyes, searching his face with concern in her hazy eyes.

 

“You okay?” she whispered.

 

He nodded, his own eyes still closed, breathing hard. “Yeah,” he whispered back. “Just…just so…so bloody *tired*, love…so tired…”

 

“Of course you are.” Tara pulled away slowly, her expression solemn as she glanced again toward Angel’s office. “Well, then, we need to do something about those dreams of yours, don’t we?”

 

*********************************

 

As Tara quietly opened Angel’s door and slipped into his office, she caught the last piece of Wesley’s calm explanation of what they had so far.

 

“…only a partial translation of the text so far, but this ritual is only a means of breaking the hold she has over Spike, not a means of stopping her for good. However, once we break the bond, as long as the sanctuary spell is in place, we all should be reasonably safe here until we can find a way to stop her permanently.”

 

Xander let out a slow, shaky breath. “Okay, that sounds pretty ugly.”

 

“We don’t want to kill her,” Willow reminded the former Watcher.

 

“Unless we have to,” Angel amended warningly. “And we might.”

 

“See, I don’t think we should be wasting time worrying about breaking this bond or whatever when we should be focusing on finding a way to…to fix her, you know?” Xander argued. “What difference does it make as long as the only person she’s hurting is a vampire? Let’s focus our attention on other things, until we can…”

 

“I can translate this!”

 

Wesley looked up with pleased interest at the former vengeance demon, whose gaze was focused intently on the text he had pointed out a few minutes earlier. “Can you? You are proficient in demon languages?”

 

“Languages, lifestyles, and everything in between,” Anya affirmed with a nod, without looking up. “Give me…a couple of hours, and I can have this in English for you.”

 

Tara’s heart leapt with joy within her…but her pleasure was soured by Xander’s objection.

 

“Ahn, Honey, we have other things to worry about right now besides whether the Bleached Wonder sleeps well or not…”

 

“Can you shut him up?” Angel muttered under his breath as he came to stand beside Anya, looking down at the book she was studying.

 

“Not so far,” Anya replied with a bright smile.

 

“Okay, so…while she’s working on the translation…I need some help with a more…immediate solution, okay?” Tara spoke up, unable to keep a trace of her impatience out of her voice. “Wesley, and Willow? Would you mind helping me with a spell?”


	59. Chapter 59

_“Please stay with me!”_

 

_Spike heard the hoarse, desperate words torn from his own throat, but felt oddly detached from them – as if he had already known it was too good to last. He lay on his back on the bed he and Tara had been sharing, gazing pleadingly up at her where she hovered above him – always above him – smiling sadly into his eyes._

 

_“You know I can’t, Spike,” she whispered in a knowing voice, “and you know why.”_

 

_His eyes welled with tears, and he lowered his gaze in shame, nodding slowly. “I know. You need…more. You need someone who’s…who’s…”_

 

_As he spoke, he lowered a hand self-consciously to rest over his unbeating heart – or rather, over the spot where it had been. He drew his hand away, puzzled, when he felt the cool, sticky moisture that coated it, gazing at the red fluid with mild surprise as he finished his statement in a haunted whisper._

 

_“…whole.”_

 

_Tara nodded with an apologetic grimace, her soft grey eyes drifting to his bloody hand for a moment before meeting his gaze again and agreeing, “I need more than half a man, Spike.”_

 

_Spike could not look at her, overwhelmed with shame at the truth he heard in her words, the knowledge that he could never again be what she needed. As she began to speak again, he raised his eyes hesitantly to hers, vaguely noticing out of the corners of his eyes that the bright red stain had begun to spread, soaking the white sheet that covered him, from somewhere around his waist  – noticing, but again, not surprised._

 

_After all…the ‘half a man’ concept was the product of his own mind. It stood to reason that his dream consciousness would interpret it in the most literal way possible._

 

_And he was somehow aware of the fact, despite the realism of the scene – this *was* a dream._

 

_*William the soddin’ Bloody, indeed…*_

 

_“She’s coming,” Tara whispered, her voice suddenly hushed and apprehensive, as she glanced nervously over her shoulder. “She could be here any moment, Spike.” She paused, shaking her head as she added softly, “And I won’t share you with her.”_

 

_“She’ll always own me.”_

 

_Tara stared at him for a long moment before nodding and replying simply, “I know.”_

 

_She was quiet for a moment, raising a tender hand to caress his cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning longingly into the touch – a touch he knew he would never feel again. Her words, barely a breath, struck a painful chord in his heart, and he felt himself collapsing inside, breaking down again, with the knowledge of her impending abandonment._

 

_“I’ll miss you…”_

 

_He had always known it couldn’t last._

 

_He could never be…enough._

 

_Spike felt the warm, gentle pressure of her lips on his, and instantly responded, thirstily drinking in every last scrap of affection she might offer him, in the moments before she left him for good. He yielded to her kiss, seeking in it a reassurance he knew that she could not offer him._

 

_She vanished in the next instant, leaving his lips and body bereft and tingling where she had touched him. A cold sensation of fear gripped him as he realized that he was alone…and *she* always seemed to find him when he was alone. He was helpless, broken, damaged – incapable of defending himself against her inevitable attack._

 

_And Tara had left him to her._

 

_“Hey, Baby.”_

 

_The Slayer appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, lounging idly there for a moment before sauntering the rest of the way into the room, a satisfied smirk on her lips, her eyes cold and glittering with malicious anticipation._

 

_He froze, his throat going dry with fear, as he scrambled backward until his back was pressed against the headboard in a vain attempt to escape her advance. He noticed with a sort of detached interest that with her appearance, his absent lower half had reappeared, and the bloody sheets were once more pristine white._

 

_Buffy noticed the direction of his puzzled gaze, and smiled knowingly._

 

_“I have your missing pieces, Spike,” she informed him. “I took them a long time ago…and I don’t plan on ever giving them back. The only way you’ll ever feel whole again…is with me.”_

 

_Spike shook his head in denial of her words, whispering, “No…no, you…you don’t make me whole…you make me…less…”_

 

_“You were already less,” the Slayer countered with a sneer as she closed the distance between them, stopping at the foot of the bed and leaning over, bracing her hands on the mattress as she met his eyes with a cruel smile. “You were already a whore…already nothing. Can’t really take anything away from nothing…can you, Spike?”_

 

_“She…makes me more than nothing,” Spike ventured a whisper, still shaking his head, his shattered heart desperately clinging to the hope that Tara had birthed in him._

 

_In an instant, Buffy was no longer at the foot of the bed, but kneeling on it, directly in front of him, leaning down to invade his space, her lips inches from his ear as she pointed out in a smug whisper,_

 

_“But she’s not here…is she?”_

 

_Spike flinched violently, knocking his head painfully against the headboard in a vain attempt to get away from her. Before he could move, however, he suddenly found that he was no longer on the bed, in the warm lighting that he had come to associate with safety and security. To his horror, he realized that he was back on the cold, stone floor of Buffy’s basement, his naked body spread out before her, chained, helpless…and blind._

 

_Her small, soft hand was searing against his cold, shivering flesh as she trailed a slow hand up his side suggestively, and he felt her hot breath against his ear as she whispered taunting words of possessive malice._

 

_“You’re mine, Spike,” she reminded him. “No matter what you try to do…how much you want to…you’ll never escape me. You’ll always belong to me. And no matter how far you go…you’ll never leave this room.”_

 

_Spike cried out in fear and pain, jerking violently against his bonds as he felt the tingling, electric sensation of her hand stroking the carved mark on his thigh, the symbol that marked him as hers. Tingling became burning, and to his shame and humiliation, Spike suddenly realized that his body was responding instinctively to her, as much as it ever had. His heart loathed her touch, but his body had been trained to desire it._

 

_“Slut,” Buffy whispered in his ear. “Dirty, disgusting little whore. You like it…because you know you deserve it.”_

 

_“No!” Spike choked out the word desperately, struggling to escape her hand as it shifted from his thigh inward. “No…no, I…I don’t…don’t l-like it…”_

 

_“But you *do* deserve it,” Buffy knowingly insisted. “You deserve to be nothing but my slave…my whore…my…my…”_

 

_Her voice trailed off, sounding distant and distracted, though Spike could not see why due to the blindness she had inflicted on him. Then all at once, she was no longer behind him, but in front of him, and a few feet away, when she spoke again, not to him this time._

 

_“What the hell are you doing here? I didn’t want you here!”_

 

_“Well, here’s a lesson that’s *way* overdue for you, Buffy…you can’t always have what you want!”_

 

_The sound of Tara’s voice sent an overwhelming sense of relief through Spike, and he felt his body begin to shake with it as he listened breathlessly to the developing confrontation._

 

_“You’re not supposed to be here!” Buffy insisted, confusion and frustration in her voice. “I *own* him…and therefore I own the right to his dreams. *I’m* in control here, and I did *not* want you here! You aren’t supposed to be in his dream!”_

 

_Tara’s voice was low, calm, and tinged with a subtle triumph as she countered softly, “Who says we’re in *his* dream?*_

 

_Buffy let out a startled cry, and there was a brief sound of a scuffle, followed by a crackling sort of sound that Spike thought was probably the release of some kind of magic._

 

_And then, the light flooded back, not in a harsh, overwhelming way, but in a bathing glow of blessed relief. Just like that, Spike was back in the bedroom at the Hyperion, sitting on the foot of the bed, fully clothed and whole again. The pain emanating from the mark had vanished, and he felt safe and warm and perfectly at ease. The door to the room was securely shut, and Buffy was nowhere to be seen._

 

_And Tara was there._

 

_She stood in front of him, holding his hands gently in hers and smiling reassuringly into his eyes._

 

_“It worked,” she told him unnecessarily. “She’s gone.”_

 

_“Not for long,” he cautioned her, his voice low and apprehensive. “She’ll push her way back in…”_

 

_“And we’ll push her out again,” Tara finished for him, her voice firm in her determination not to let the Slayer win this. “This is a whole different playing field now – one where she doesn’t just automatically win.”_

 

_Spike nodded hurriedly, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out in a shaky rush. When he felt her soft, steady hand resting gently on his hip, he glanced up at her uncertainly, reassured immediately by the warmth and affection in her eyes._

 

_“See?” she murmured, glancing pointedly down at his lower body, whole once more. “She’s not the only one with the missing pieces.” As she spoke, she raised her hand and brushed a feather-light touch across his chest, where the hole in his heart had been minutes earlier._

 

_Spike swallowed hard, struggling to maintain control over his emotions, averting his eyes as he felt them fill with the undeniable evidence of said emotions. Tara’s firm hand under his chin tilted his head gently upward again until he was meeting her eyes, which were intent and solemn._

 

_“And that first bit? Before either of us were here? We’re going to talk about that later, Sweetheart.”_

 

_Spike opened his mouth to object, to deny the obvious, but was spared the awkward attempt by the heavy sense of foreboding that came over them both at that moment. Though the door was closed and locked, he glanced toward it anxiously, his hands going instinctively to Tara’s waist in an automatic desire for contact, comfort._

 

_“She’s coming,” he whispered, dread in his voice._

 

_“Yeah. And then she’s leaving.”_

 

_Tara’s voice was hard, unyielding, her eyes narrowed in fierce determination as she glanced around the room, which suddenly seemed to be shaking around them. A sound like thunder filled the air, before the Slayer appeared before them again, her arms crossed over her chest as she cast a cold smile in their direction._

 

_Instinctively, Tara shifted so that she stood partly between Buffy and Spike, her body tensing in preparation to react should the Slayer make a move._

 

_“Okay, I give. What trick is this?” Buffy demanded. “How are you doing it?” When no one responded, she shrugged, taking a casual step closer as she admitted, “Okay, it *is* impressive, gotta say…I’m the only one who’s supposed to be able to do this whole dream-controlling thing. And yet – here you are. What’s your secret?”_

 

_“Key word -- *secret*,” Tara muttered. “As in you don’t need to know. What you *do* need to do is get out, Buffy. *Now*.”_

 

_The Slayer gave a harsh laugh of surprise as she moved even closer, a pleased smirk crossing her lips as Spike visibly tensed behind Tara, his breath quickening with fear at her increasing nearness._

 

_“Nope,” Buffy replied brightly. “Like it or not, Tara…Spike’s dreams are *my* territory now. And I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know what you’ve done, but I’m gonna figure it out, and stop it. I’ll have control of his mind again, witch…”_

 

_As Buffy spoke, she finally closed the distance between them, and one lightning fast fist shot out toward Tara’s head. With a swiftly spoken Latin word and an outstretched hand, Tara froze the fist in mid-swing, a slight smirk playing about the corners of her full lips as Buffy stared incredulously at her frozen limb, struggling to free it from what appeared to be nothing more than thin air._

 

_“No, you won’t,” Tara declared, her eyes blazing with protective fury._

 

_With a second quick spell, Tara sent the Slayer flying backward, slamming painfully into the far wall and collapsing to the floor with a groan of pain, as Tara finished in a low voice of triumph._

 

_“And this is *my* mind…bitch.”_


	60. Chapter 60

_She was glorious._

 

_Breathtaking._

 

_Spike simply stood there in awe, watching as the blonde goddess that his friend, his protector, his love, had become stalked purposefully toward the fallen Slayer, struggling to pull herself up against the wall across the room. Stunned, Spike found it hard to believe that this was the same girl who still fought not to stutter when she spoke at times, and treated him with such gentle compassion and tenderness._

 

_He was intensely grateful for the protective fury that blazed in her eyes as she passed him…and glad that it was not directed at him, and never would be._

 

_“Y-your mind?” Buffy echoed incredulously as she staggered to her feet, bracing a hand against the wall and staring at the blonde witch in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”_

 

_“Newsflash, Buffy,” Tara smirked, stopping a few steps in front of the Slayer and crossing her arms over her chest. “Things don’t always go your way, after all.”_

 

_“How?” Buffy demanded, her voice trembling with frustrated rage. “How did you do this? There’s a spell…a bond. He’s *mine*! How can you *do this*?” Her last words were nearly a scream of mad fury._

 

_Tara’s calm remained unaffected by the Slayer’s outburst, as she shrugged carelessly without uncrossing her arms. “Did a spell. Worked a little better than yours, apparently. I don’t really feel like going into the details. Right now…I pretty much just feel like enjoying it.”_

 

_Without hesitation, Tara simply flicked a hand in Buffy’s direction, not even saying a word – and Buffy doubled over in pain, letting out a startled cry as her hand clutched her stomach and she nearly collapsed to the floor again. Tara took advantage of her position to take another slow, pointed step toward Buffy, her eyes narrowing and the amusement leaving her expression._

 

_Tara waited until Buffy’s pain had eased enough to allow her to look up at her again in disbelief, before stating in a voice of cold command, “You will *not* touch Spike again, Buffy. No matter what I have to do to you, I *will* protect him from you.”_

 

_“What, you’re gonna just stay with him every second?” Buffy sneered, gasping for breath as she straightened, still bracing her weight against the wall. Her cruel eyes locked onto Spike, beyond Tara, as she added viciously, “*That* could get old fast.” She smiled as Spike flinched at her words, adding in a biting tone, “Pathetic, whining little coward clinging to your skirt like a helpless child…I know it drove *me* nuts. Have fun with that.”_

 

_With their minds connected by the spell she had performed with Willow and Wesley’s help, Tara was acutely aware of Spike’s emotional pain at Buffy’s words, calculated perfectly to penetrate his fragile defenses, striking at the most vulnerable of his insecurities. She felt his heartbreak and despair, as Buffy’s words only served to confirm the secret fears he held, that Tara would eventually tire of the broken, damaged creature he had become._

 

_It made her furious…but not with him._

 

_Uttering a low Latin word, Tara stretched a hand toward Buffy, blasting her with a painful jolt of magical energy, sending her slamming back against the wall before crumpling to the floor in a shaking, gasping heap. As the Slayer struggled on trembling limbs just to pull herself to her hands and knees on the floor, Tara crouched before her, her eyes narrowed in anger and determination as she glared at her._

 

_“Shut. Up.”_

 

_Buffy let out a high, manic giggle as she regained her breath. “Strike a little…too close to home?” she gasped out with a sort of desperate triumph in her voice. Directing her words over Tara’s shoulder at Spike, she taunted, ”The truth hurts, doesn’t it, Baby?”_

 

_“Shut up…or I’ll shut you up,” Tara reiterated in a carefully calm voice. “And I *really* don’t think you’ll like my methods.” She paused, smiling grimly as she explained with another shrug, “My dream…means no limits on what I can do. And I have a *very* vivid imagination, Buffy; so this is one place you might wanna think about not messing with me.”_

 

_“See, I’m not messing with you,” Buffy countered defiantly, glaring up at her before returning her sadistic smile to the vampire standing across the room. “I’m messing with *him*…and it’s working out pretty well for me; don’t know why I’d want to stop now…”_

 

_Tara followed her gaze, glancing over her shoulder at Spike, who was looking incredibly self-conscious and uncomfortable, his arms crossed tightly across his torso, his eyes fastened on the floor as he fought to maintain control over his emotions, swallowing hard against the sobs that rose in his throat, blinking tears from his downcast eyes._

 

_“Enough,” Tara snapped, turning back to face Buffy. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you…”_

 

_“Warn me about what?” Buffy sneered, a challenge in her voice. It was clear that she thought Tara incapable of backing up her threats.“What are you gonna…?”_

 

_Her words were cut off abruptly as Tara once again used the tremendous magical power she possessed only in her dreams, this time to flatten her back against the wall behind her, her wrists pinned against it by swirling, shimmering bonds that seemed to be composed of nothing more than magic itself. The same ethereal material encircled the Slayer’s mouth, silencing her defiant words of protest as she struggled uselessly to free herself._

 

_Tara smiled with satisfaction, leaning back slightly to survey her work. Without taking her triumphant gaze from Buffy’s bewildered eyes, she spoke softly, directing her words to Spike rather than to the incapacitated Slayer as she beckoned him to her with one hand._

 

_“Come here, Sweetheart.”_

 

_Behind her, Spike looked up sharply, startled, but did not move. He glanced nervously toward Buffy before looking back at Tara again, an uncertain question in his eyes._

 

_Tara turned toward him, searching his expression with concern. “Come on,” she urged him gently. “It’s okay. Come over here to me, Spike.” When he still did not move, simply gazing at her with wide, fearful eyes, she added, “It’s just a dream…and it’s *my* dream…and she can’t touch you, Spike. Come on, Honey.”_

 

_Hesitantly, never taking his eyes from hers, Spike crossed the room on trembling legs, until he was close enough for Tara to take him into her arms. He gratefully allowed himself to collapse against her as she wrapped her arms around him, holding him as tremors of delayed fear and trauma shook his body._

 

_“It’s all right,” she reassured him. “It’s okay, Sweetheart. She has no power here.”_

 

_Spike nodded silently against her shoulder, apparently accepting her words – until she tried to gently push him back to look at him. He resisted the gesture, clinging to her, refusing to leave the shelter of her arms and face the unsettling nearness of his abuser, even if she *was* bound and helpless at the moment._

 

_“No,” he whispered a pleading protest as she tried again to push him back. “Don’t…don’t make me…”_

 

_Tara considered simply ignoring the sadistic little giggle that was still audible from Buffy’s mouth, however muffled by the magical gag she wore. She knew that she had to focus on Spike right now; in the end, however, she decided that there was no reason why she shouldn’t indulge her impulse to deliver another punishing jolt to the Slayer. Tara could not suppress a slight smile as Buffy jerked against her bonds, as her calloused laughter was cut off in a muffled moan of pain._

 

_“Spike,” Tara reasoned with him quietly, raising a hand to the vampire’s cheek and gently tilting his head back to meet his eyes. “Spike…she can’t hurt you. She *can’t*. You’re safe…”_

 

_“Sh-she’s watching,” Spike whispered back, lowering his gaze, his eyes wide and shocked. He was clearly sick with fear, stumbling over his explanation. “She’ll…she’ll be so…she won’t like…”_

 

_“It doesn’t matter what she likes,” Tara cut him off, a sharp edge to her voice, though her eyes were still full of sympathy and compassion, and her warm hand gently stroked his cheek in a soothing gesture. “Not anymore. She can’t hurt you. If she doesn’t like it, she can get over it, because she doesn’t have the right to decide what you do, Spike. She has no more control over you.”_

 

_Spike visibly struggled with the concept, torn between the hope Tara was offering him, and the instinctive terror that rose up within him at the very thought that Buffy was standing right there, observing his closeness with the blonde witch…and no doubt filling with jealous fury at the fact that he was allowing Tara to touch him, when he belonged to *her*._

 

_“I c-can’t,” he stammered, fighting back panic, suddenly pulling back away from Tara. “I can’t do this…”_

 

_“Spike,” Tara said firmly, gripping his arms and refusing to allow him to leave her embrace. “Spike, stop…stop for a second, okay?”_

 

_He nodded, freezing in place, though his every muscle was taut and tense, poised for flight at a moment’s notice. He was trembling uncontrollably, his eyes focused somewhere around Tara’s shoulders, cautiously avoiding even accidental eye contact with his former abuser._

 

_“All right,” he whispered, his tone distant and distracted. “Okay…”_

 

_“Okay,” Tara murmured, her hand at his cheek slipping upward to run soothingly through his hair. “You can do whatever you want, Spike. You don’t have to worry about her. This is *my* territory, not hers. She can’t touch you here. And even when we wake up, Sweetie…she can’t touch you in the hotel. You are *perfectly safe*. Okay?”_

 

_Spike nodded hesitantly, though he did appear to be calming somewhat. He even ventured a brief glance in Buffy’s direction, though he quickly looked away when faced with the venom in her furious gaze, drawing in an alarmed, shuddering breath._

 

_“Shhh,” Tara soothed him immediately, running a hand up and down his back in a reassuring gesture. “I know what she’s doing, Sweethart…but that’s *all* she can do, you know that? Threatening looks and mumbled sounds…she can’t even talk right now.” Her voice lowered as she caught his gaze, smiling secretively as she added, “*She’s* the one who’s helpless now, Spike. Not you. *Her*.”_

 

_Spike’s eyes widened slightly as he slowly processed that concept, glancing again toward Buffy, lowering his gaze when she tried to catch it, but not looking away completely, his eyes drifting toward the magical bonds at her wrists that held her to the wall._

 

_“Doesn’t look so scary right now, does she?” Tara remarked, raising her voice enough to allow Buffy to hear her words as well, meeting the Slayer’s eyes with a smirk as she did. “Squirming and mumbling and getting absolutely nowhere. Doesn’t really look capable of hurting anyone at the moment…does she?”_

 

_Spike shook his head slowly, his eyes fastened on the Slayer’s bound form, as he swallowed hard. “No,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and hollow, but sounding far less panicked now. “She doesn’t.”_

 

_“If you asked anybody looking into this dream right now, who has the power,” Tara continued in a calm, gently leading voice, turning so that they were side by side, facing Buffy, her arm wrapped around his waist in a supportive gesture. “You or her…what do you think they would say?”_

 

_Spike hesitated, his eyes downcast, his lips parted to reply, but seemingly unable to even fathom the idea of giving the obvious answer. The idea of his actually having power over Buffy was so foreign to him, he could scarcely imagine it, let alone speak it aloud, and especially in her very presence. Months of torture had left him with the subconscious certainty that such an offense could only lead to the worst of suffering and punishment._

 

_“Spike?” Tara pressed softly._

 

_“I…I don’t…don’t know…”_

 

_“Yes, you do. *You* have the power,” Tara answered the question for him, her arm squeezing slightly around his waist. “You, Spike. You have the power here. She can’t hurt you…but you can hurt her. There’s no sanctuary spell to protect her…and I won’t let her touch you.”_

 

_Buffy let out a muffled, strangled cry of outrage at Tara’s words, but was powerless to express herself as she wished – a fact which only served to reinforce Tara’s assessment of the situation. The blonde witch felt the vampire at her side quake slightly in response to Buffy’s anger, but noted with hope that his reaction was not anywhere near as extreme as it had been before._

 

_“This may be a dream, Spike,” Tara continued. “But it certainly feels real…doesn’t it?”_

 

_He nodded silently, his eyes momentarily focused on the floor before bravely focusing on Buffy’s face, hesitating, but not looking away this time, even when faced with her best attempt at a menacing glare, made far less intimidating by her helpless state._

 

_“She doesn’t have control of it. I do. So she can’t do anything to you. And when we wake up, you’ll be safe then, too.” Tara paused, before concluding earnestly, “You can do *anything* in here, Spike. Say anything, without fear of any consequences. There is nothing she can do to punish you for anything you might choose to do here.”_

 

_Spike turned toward her, startled as he realized what she was getting at. His gaze drifted wonderingly between Tara’s and Buffy’s faces, before finally meeting Tara’s gaze again with a question in his uncertain eyes…and a dawning light of awestruck hope._

 

_Tara nodded, giving him an encouraging smile._

 

_“This is your chance, Spike,” she affirmed softly. “Your chance to do and say all the things you’ve wanted to do and say over the past few months. She’s at *your* mercy here. And this is your chance to make her pay.”_


	61. Chapter 61

Spike stood there for a long moment, staring blankly at the bound Slayer, who was currently giving him her most menacing glare…which was decidedly less menacing with a magical gag in her mouth.

 

Tara’s words, profoundly powerful to one so thoroughly broken and degraded as he had been, echoed in his mind again and again.

 

*You can do anything…say anything…to her, and there’s *nothing* she can do to you! *You* have the power now!*

 

Spike was intensely grateful for the feeling of Tara’s soft, warm arm around his waist, offering him comfort that he craved, reminding him silently that he was not alone, and no longer at the mercy of the Slayer he was facing. Still, the thought of what she was suggesting was enough to send him to the edge of a panic attack.

 

His body began to tremble as he imagined all the things he would have loved to say to her, to do to her…and the terrible punishments the Slayer would unleash upon him in repayment for it. He shook his head in denial, moving as if to back up, but Tara slipped around so that she stood slightly behind him, both her arms wrapping gently around him as she leaned in to speak softly next to his ear.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay, Spike…calm down, Sweetheart…”

 

“I can’t,” he replied in a low, shaking voice, his eyes closed as he reached up to clutch at her arms around him, pulling her closer in a desperate need for the security her embrace provided. “Tara, I can’t…I can’t…”

 

“Yes, you can,” she assured him firmly. “She can’t touch you, Spike. This is your opportunity to get back what she took from you, Sweetheart.”

 

Spike was silent, not arguing the point, but clearly not fully accepting of it, either.

 

“Remember,” Tara insisted, lowering her voice so that only Spike could hear her as she spoke directly into his ear, her arms tightening supportively around him, “it’s just a dream, Spike…and it’s a dream in *my* head…so no matter what you say, what you do…she can’t get loose. She can’t hurt you. Okay?”

 

Spike hesitated, but at last it seemed that her words were getting through to him. “Yeah,” he whispered, nodding. “Okay.”

 

After a moment, his hands on her arms became steadier, and he gently, decisively, pushed them down. Sensitive to his need for space as much as she had been to his need for reassurance, Tara immediately released him, taking a step backward, though not moving too far away, in case he should still need her.

 

Spike just stood there for a long moment, his wide blue eyes fastened on Buffy, meeting her threatening gaze bravely, despite her best attempts at intimidation. Then, hesitantly, he took a step closer to her, further from Tara. After a slight pause, he took another step, and then another, each one becoming more sure than the last, until he was standing a couple of feet in front of her, yet still far enough to be out of her reach should she manage to break her bonds and attempt to get to him.

 

He slowly looked her over, taking in her strong but helpless body, taut muscles flexing as she struggled against her bonds, and he remembered the agony that terrible strength had inflicted upon him. Her tiny hands were clenched into fists as she fought uselessly, and Spike shuddered inwardly to remember how brutally and systematically those fists had broken him.

 

Hardest of all to face, however, was the sharp menace in her narrowed emerald eyes as she glared at him, her lips around the gag turned upward in the best imitation of a sneer she could manage. Spike remembered the cruel words her mouth could form, the vicious pleasure in her eyes when she had devised and executed a particularly hurtful emotional torment.

 

He met those cold, spiteful eyes for an instant longer, before three words slipped from his lips, without any conscious plan to speak them on his part.

 

“I hate you.”

 

He blinked in surprise the moment he said it, as if only just discovering the depth of his emotions toward his abuser…the woman he had loved for years, in spite of the cruelty she had shown him. Buffy appeared equally surprised, her eyes widening as she pulled her head back slightly as if to look at him more closely.

 

“I didn’t…didn’t always,” Spike went on, his voice trembling slightly, but determined now that he had begun to finish it…because if he didn’t say these things now, he knew that he might never say them. “I…loved you…once. But…but you bloody well destroyed that.” He paused, his voice low and anguished as he added, “Destroyed *me*.”

 

He flinched slightly at the unmistakable laughter in the Slayer’s cold eyes, well aware that she was, as always, taking pleasure in his discomfort, in the damage she had caused him. He felt his face flush with shame, and swallowed back a hard knot in his throat. A familiar, frustrated anger rose up within him, at his own helplessness in the face of her derision, her cruelty.

 

Except…he *wasn’t* helpless. Not here…not now.

 

He was intensely aware of Tara’s silent support behind him, and suddenly, he *knew* that he was safe here. There was no way that Buffy could touch him, no matter how badly she might want to – and once the dream was over, and he awakened, the sanctuary spell would hold her menace at bay.

 

*She* was the helpless one this time.

 

With a strength and fire he had thought lost to him forever, Spike drew back his fist and struck her across the face, before he could give any thought to the action, or mentally talk himself out of it. Buffy’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow, and the blond vampire’s eyes went wide with surprise at his own nerve.

 

Buffy’s head slowly turned back to face him, her eyes narrowed and glaring with rage. Spike felt a shudder run down his spine at the sheer hatred and vindictive anger he saw in her livid gaze.

 

An instant later, a thought not his own hissed through his mind with menace.

 

*You really shouldn’t have done that, Baby. I’m gonna make you regret that…*

 

Spike jumped slightly, startled by the intrusive voice of the Slayer in his mind; but an instant later, he felt Tara’s supportive hand on his shoulder as she moved in close again, extending her other hand toward the Slayer and murmuring a soft Latin word.

 

“I’m sorry,” Tara whispered, her hand gently squeezing his shoulder, and Spike raised a grateful hand to cover hers, never taking his eyes off the increasingly infuriated Slayer. “I didn’t think about that – her being able to talk in your head. I’ve stopped her.”

 

Spike turned to look at her at those words, a surprised question on his face.

 

“Yes, I can do that,” Tara answered with a smile. “My mind, remember? Therefore, ultimate power. I can keep her from intruding in your thoughts, as long as we’re in my head. I just – didn’t think to. I’m sorry,” she repeated.

 

“’S okay, love,” Spike replied with a slight shrug, turning his eyes back on Buffy, a slow, tentative smile beginning to form on his lips. “I…I think I’m starting to get it now…”

 

With each display of Tara’s power, Spike found himself increasingly sure of his safety in this dream realm of her mind. Even Buffy’s thoughts were subject to Tara’s command here. Feeling more confident than he had in a terribly long time, Spike gently shrugged free of Tara’s hand on his shoulder, moving once more toward the bound Slayer.

 

“You really can’t touch me,” he stated softly, a sort of wonder in his eyes, now shining with a subtle triumph. “Not with your hands…or your words…or even your bloody thoughts. You can’t do a soddin’ thing to me, here.”

 

Buffy struggled uselessly against her bonds, trying desperately to pull free, her face a twisted mask of rage at his words. Like Spike, she was beginning to become aware of her own helplessness in the situation – and she simply couldn’t stand it. She fought frantically to pull free, though her efforts did not gain her even the slightest ground.

 

Spike watched her for a long moment, as the smile slowly faded from his face, his mind going back to dozens of different times before when she had felt her power threatened, and had lashed out in rage. He had seen that twisted expression of uncontrollable fury, directed at him, on too many occasions to count.

 

But this time, it did not carry the same terror with it that it always had in the past.

 

Spike drew back his fist and struck her again, a grim smile reappearing on his face when she went still, momentarily stunned by the blow, before turning wide, frantic eyes on him again. He could see that the inability to so much as voice her protest was driving Buffy mad with frustration…and it was a beautiful thing to see.

 

“You won’t ever touch me again, Buffy,” he told her, his voice low and just barely trembling with the weight of his emotions. “I’m through being your…you toy. Your slave. I loved you, Buffy. I loved you for a long time…but I’ve learned something, pet.” He was quiet for a long moment, swallowing hard in an effort to control his emotions, before continuing in a carefully controlled voice.

 

“Doesn’t matter how hard I tried, how much good I did, how much I tried to prove myself to you…you’re never gonna love me.” He paused before adding sadly, “Don’t think you’ve got it in you to love at all anymore. And…and I’ve found someone…someone who *does* love me, Buffy. You…you told me…I’d never find that…”

 

Spike’s voice had lowered as he struggled with deep set insecurities she had placed within him, and finally stated calmly in a soft, certain whisper,

 

“You’re a liar.”

 

Buffy jerked against her restraints, her eyes narrowed in a threatening expression, and Spike knew that she was longing to speak words of vicious degradation and menace…but she couldn’t.

 

And that made all the difference in the world.

 

“You just said it to…to keep me from trying to fight back. To keep me…under control,” Spike continued, his eyes averted now as he thought through what he wanted to say. “But…it wasn’t true. Tara loves me. She…she tells me…I didn’t deserve…what you did…”

 

Spike kept his eyes carefully downcast as he spoke, not having to look to know that Buffy’s lips were twisted in a knowing sneer around her magical gag, saying clearly without words what she thought of his words. He struggled to hold onto his courage as he continued, his voice low and only slightly hesitant.

 

“I…I believe her. She’s…never lied to me, and you…you lied to me every soddin’ day. So…I trust her. I believe her. I know that…that I didn’t deserve it. That you’re the one with the bloody problem, not me. I just…I just need…to hear it from *you*.”

 

Behind him, Spike heard Tara’s sharp, alarmed intake of breath, but he did not turn. He raised his eyes slowly to meet Buffy’s, determination in his apprehensive gaze.

 

“Spike…” Tara’s gentle voice behind him was cautious, warning.

 

“Take it down,” Spike requested quietly. “Let her…let her speak. Aloud, not…not in my head. Never want her in my head again.”

 

“Spike…I don’t think you want to…”

 

“*Take it down*.”

 

Tara was silent for a long moment, and Buffy’s shrewd eyes moved quickly between the two of them, a cruel light shining there as she waited eagerly for Tara to do as Spike had requested. Spike studiously avoided her gaze, taking a step nearer to her as Tara let out a heavy, defeated sigh.

 

If he was determined to do it this way, she would not stand in his way.

 

A whispered word broke the spell binding Buffy’s mouth, and the Slayer raised her head with a sneer, her lips already parted to spout the venom she had become so good at inflicting on the vampire who had been her victim for so long.

 

Before she could speak, Spike struck her again, backhanding her across the face, hard enough to momentarily take her breath.

 

“No more lies,” he stated, his voice slightly unsteady as he stared impassively down at her. “You’re going to tell the truth, Buffy. You’re going to admit to the lies you told me…”

 

“Spike,” Tara tried again, sounding sick with worry.

 

Spike ignored her, focusing his attention on Buffy. “You knew those things you said…about the others not caring if I…about what you were doing…you knew it wasn’t true all along…didn’t you?”

 

Buffy looked up, poised to respond, and the wicked gleam in her eyes told him before she could utter a word that she was not about to say anything he wanted to hear. Spike hit her across the face again, following up the blow with a sharp punch to her midsection, causing her body to attempt to double over in pain, though the restraints at her wrists prevented her from doing so.

 

“You called me…a whore…a slut…said I’d asked for it. Wanted it. Deserved it.” Spike’s voice wavered increasingly as he went on, and he blinked away tears that momentarily blinded him, sending them sliding down his face as he delivered another breathtaking blow across her face, snapping her head to the side.

 

“Take it back.”

 

Buffy’s response was a high-pitched giggle which carried with it the gleeful, frantic note of insanity. She looked up at him, ruthless mirth in her eyes, opening her mouth again to speak words that he knew would be designed to hurt and break him…but there were tears streaming down her face as well, now.

 

Still, he knew enough to cut her off with another blow.

 

“You said I made you do it,” Spike reminded her, the words nearly a sob, swiping roughly with the back of his hand at the tears that persisted in flowing down his face. “You said it was…my fault. But…but it wasn’t…it *wasn’t*…”

 

He punctuated the words with another fist to the side of her head, words and blows coming faster as the vampire began to allow his emotions to get the better of him, despite his best intentions not to let that happen.

 

“Y-you said…said I was…was worthless…”

 

*Punch*

 

“…stupid…”

 

*Slap*

 

“…dirty…”

 

*Punch*

 

“…d-disgusting little whore…”

 

*Punch*

 

“…g-got off on the pain…except…except…”

 

Spike delivered a backhand blow with enough force to cause him to stagger, stumbling slightly to regain his footing and struggling to regain the breath to finish his statement. His tears were flowing freely now, blinding him, and his insides were quaking, shuddering and sick. He wiped away the tears, raising anguished eyes to search her face, as he choked out the last words in a hoarse sob.

 

“…except…it was *you* bloody getting off on it! You…you did it because you *wanted* to! I d-didn’t deserve it…didn’t do anything to…to make you…it wasn’t my fault!”

 

He fell silent for a moment, wrenching sobs shaking his body, his arms doubled over across his chest as he bowed his head, struggling to regain his composure, and failing miserably. He raised his eyes to Buffy again, to see that she was staring at him through wide, stunned eyes, her face streaked with her own mingled blood and tears.

 

“Spike…Sweetheart…” Tara’s voice was thick with heartache for him, as she tried again to pull him back from the brink of what could only be disastrous.

 

But Spike’s attention was focused solely on Buffy.

 

Miraculously, the mirth seemed to have vanished from her face, and her eyes had become serious and intent, watching his emotional outburst with what could almost have passed for genuine concern. Spike stared at her for a long moment, his eyes bleak and despairing, before he finally reiterated his need in a hoarse, desperate whisper.

 

“Say it. Tell the truth. Tell me…tell me *why*…”

 

Buffy was completely silent for a long moment, staring at him through solemn eyes, her breath harsh and labored and impossibly loud in the sudden stillness of the room. Finally, she lowered her head, her shoulders shaking with what might have been laughter…or silent sobs. Spike simply waited, unmoved by her emotion, yet allowing himself to hope that it might, *might* mean that she was willing to give him the answers he needed.

 

Finally, she looked slowly up at him…and in the instant before she spoke in a low, dark voice, Spike saw the malice in her eyes, and his heart sank with disappointment.

 

“The truth?” she rasped out. “The truth…is that you’re a worthless, disgusting *monster*, Spike. And anything I can do to you won’t even begin to make up for all the damage you’ve done over the centuries. *Yes*, I enjoyed it,” she sneered, her words slow and calculated, designed for the maximum painful impact. “I enjoyed every scream…every plea for mercy…every moan of pleasure you couldn’t hold back, even though it made you disgusted with yourself for liking being *raped*, you disgusting, sick little whore. Yes, I liked it. I enjoyed it. So what? You are *nothing*, Spike, and you have no right to *live*, let alone complain.”

 

Spike flinched at the words, his head lowered in shame. A part of him was not surprised, having expected no better from her, but it hurt just the same. The validation, the release from his own self-doubts and recriminations that he had craved, had been denied him…but had he ever really thought that Buffy would grant it.

 

No. Not really.

 

Buffy’s voice softened, each word a dagger driving deep into its target, as she continued intently, “You deserved it, Spike. You asked for it. You let me do it to you…because a part of you liked it. It *was* your fault, for being the dirty, twisted little slut you are. And I’m going to get you back, Spike. I’m going to find a way around this spell, and I’m going to get you back with me where you belong. I’ll remind you how much you liked it, you little…”

 

Abruptly her words went silent, and Spike looked up through dull, anguished eyes to see that she was still talking, but no sound was coming out – like a television with the volume turned down. He turned to look at Tara, whose lips were twisted into a grimace of protective rage, as she stalked purposefully toward the Slayer, already drawing back her hand in preparation to strike. A fiery bolt of magical energy slammed into the Slayer, causing her body to convulse with pain for a few seconds, before collapsing against her bonds again, panting and shaking with the remnants of the agony Tara had caused her.

 

“That’s enough,” Tara snarled, her eyes narrowed in menace as she took another step closer to Buffy. “You’re a liar, just like Spike said, and we don’t need to hear your lies. You won’t ever get the chance to touch him again. And if you’re smart, you’ll stay out of his dreams. His mind is linked to mine, and you won’t be able to touch him. All that’s waiting for you here if you try to come back again is more of what you just got. So if I were you, I’d just stay away.”

 

A second jolt punctuated her words, before Tara turned and went back to Spike, enfolding the trembling vampire in her arms without hesitation. Her hand cradled the back of his head, holding his face gently down against her shoulder as she laid a tender kiss against his temple before leaning in to whisper in his ear.

 

“It’s all lies, Sweetheart. You know it’s not true, none of it.”

 

Spike nodded automatically, but Tara knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t really sure.

 

And that was an issue best dealt with away from the prying eyes of the Slayer.

 

“Come on,” Tara whispered decisively, raising her hand in preparation to make the magical symbol in the air that would end the spell…for now. “Time to wake up.”

 


	62. Chapter 62

Spike awakened suddenly in the dimly lit bedroom he had been sharing with Tara. The first feeling he was aware of was one of restriction, and he tried to jerk away from the firm grip of the person holding onto him, panicked and frantic with fear, his mind too confused and disoriented to process who it was that was holding him.

 

But Tara was ready for just such a reaction.

 

“You’re safe,” she assured him. “You’re safe, Spike, it’s just me…you’re just right here with me, and it’s okay…”

 

The sound of her voice was enough to calm him somewhat, and Spike ceased his efforts to escape her, rather sinking gratefully into her embrace, his arms clasping her tighter to him while his head lowered to rest against her breast. Tara’s soft fingertips played through the hair on the side of his head, whispering soothing sounds in his ear as she cradled him close, though her eyes were raised to meet those of the other two in the room with them, seated near the bed.

 

Wesley’s expression was one of schooled composure, no doubt a response learned long ago as the only one appropriate for moments so flooded with intense emotion. His lips formed a tight line, his eyes carefully averted, as he sat there in silence, but Tara could see a blazing light of righteous fury and indignation in his eyes, and knew that it was more than just dismay at seeing the depths of depravity to which the current Chosen One had fallen.

 

Willow was sobbing softly, her hands raised to cover her face. She had understandably had a difficult time accepting that her best friend of so many years could be capable of the kind of cruelty Tara and Spike accused her of committing; but now, she had seen it with her own eyes, had tasted the horror Buffy had inflicted on Spike for so long.

 

It was more than she could bear.

 

Tara’s eyes softened with compassion on the quietly weeping girl she had once loved more than anything. She wished there had been another way to protect Spike from Buffy’s mental attacks, but the spell to join her dreams with Spike’s had required more magical power than she possessed. Unfortunately, it had also required Spike and Tara to be asleep, allowing Buffy the opportunity to slip in while Willow and Wesley were still there to see it.

 

Without a word to draw attention to the redhead’s reaction, Tara reached out a gentle hand to rest on the girl’s knee in a gesture of simple comfort. Willow lowered her hands, shocked eyes locking onto Tara’s, her head shaking slowly in stricken grief.

 

“How…” Willow whispered. “How could she…?”

 

Spike looked up sharply at her hoarse whisper, as if just remembering that he and Tara were not alone in the room. He swallowed hard, turning his head away in shame, his eyes tightly closed as if to shut the world away.

 

“I don’t know,” Tara whispered in response to Willow’s words, though she frowned with concern, her eyes focused on Spike as her hand cupped the back of his head protectively. “I don’t know what exactly is wrong with her, Willow – but I don’t think she’s *our* Buffy, you know? I think…I think whenever she came back…she came back…”

 

“Wrong,” Willow finished, her eyes widening with horrified understanding at last. “I did this. Tara, I did this!”

 

Tara was silent, not having any words of consolation to offer her former lover. After all, Willow was right. If she had not brought Buffy back, none of this would have been happening to them at all. There was really nothing she could say to make it better for Willow.

 

And besides – Willow was not really her focus at the moment, anyway.

 

She could feel the shame rolling off the vampire in waves, as he hid his face, struggling to stifle the sobs that rose in his throat, because of the presence of the others in the room. She tried to pull back, only to find that Spike refused to allow it, moving with her so that his face remained concealed.

 

Over his head, Tara’s eyes met Wesley’s, and the perceptive Watcher immediately understood. He stood, placing a gentle hand on Willow’s shoulder and speaking in a soft, sobered voice.

 

“Come along, Willow. Let’s leave them be for now, shall we?”

 

The little redhead looked up at him in confusion for a moment, her eyes glistening with tears, but after a moment she seemed to get it, and rose with a hurried nod. “Okay. Yeah,” she replied, sniffling quietly as she ran the back of her hand across her eyes in a useless attempt to mask her emotions. “We’ll…we’ll be downstairs, okay?”

 

Tara nodded silently, giving her what she hoped was an encouraging smile, as Willow and Wesley headed for the bedroom door, closing it gently behind them. It was barely shut before Spike raised his head just enough to whisper brokenly, his cool breath a soft caress against Tara’s skin.

 

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry, love…”

 

“Shhh,” Tara soothed him, shaking her head as she gently tilted his chin up so that he was facing her at last. “Spike…you have nothing to be sorry about. You were *wonderful* in there…don’t you see that?”

 

Tara searched his expression for a long moment, her eyes finally widening in disbelief. “You don’t, do you?” she concluded. “Spike…the way you stood up to her…the way you demanded what you needed from her…”

 

“Yeah,” Spike sniffed tearfully, lowering his head again with a quiet little huff of self-mocking laughter. “Got it, too, didn’t I? Except for the bit where I *didn’t*! And in the end, she still got the last word in, didn’t she? Still managed to make me feel like so much rubbish under her shoes.”

 

Tara was quiet, carefully weighing her next words before she spoke them. When she finally did respond, her voice was gentle, full of a compassion and tenderness that Spike desperately needed.

 

“I’m so incredibly proud of you for confronting her, Spike. For…for standing up to her and demanding the answers you need.” Tara paused, drawing in a deep breath before continuing, “But you’ll never get them. Not from her.”

 

Spike looked up sharply, surprised by her blunt words.

 

Tara’s grey eyes were full of understanding as she unflinchingly met his questioning gaze, sorrow in her voice as she explained, “She’ll never give you that, Spike. The girl who might have been able to, once…well, she wouldn’t have done these things to you in the first place.”

 

Spike let out a heavy sigh, nodding as he lowered his head. “I know,” he admitted in a small, uncertain voice, barely over a whisper.

 

Tara’s hand ran soothingly through his hair as a few moments of thoughtful silence passed between them. Finally, she went on, her voice hushed and even and calming in the stillness that surrounded them.

 

“For the last two years, Spike…Buffy has defined your self-worth. You’ve looked at her opinion of you, and drawn your judgments of yourself from that. And you know…before, that might not have been so terrible. Not at all wise,” she amended with a little grimace, “but not necessarily a devastating mistake, you know? But…but now…you can’t look to her to tell you who you are – what you’re worth – not ever again.”

 

Spike was very still, taking in the words that were clearly difficult for him to accept on several different levels.

 

“She doesn’t *know* how much you’re worth,” Tara went on, her hand sliding down to cup his cheek, gently raising his face toward hers to meet her warm, affectionate smile. “She doesn’t appreciate you…and she’s made it her goal to make you feel like…what was it? So much rubbish beneath her feet? She *wants* to make you feel that way…and if you let her, she will.” She waited a moment before stating firmly, “You can’t let her, Spike.”

 

“I…I don’t know how to *stop* her…” Spike confessed in an anguished whisper, tears sliding down his face again, his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.

 

“You stop looking to her for what you need,” Tara supplied the answer without hesitation.

 

Spike shook his head as he looked up at her again, clearly bewildered by the idea. “How?”

 

“You start looking for it somewhere else.”

 

Tara’s encouraging smile seemed to swallow up the world around Spike, until he could be aware of nothing else but the brightness of her love in her eyes, the tenderness of her touch on his trembling arms. He drank in the affection on her face, his hands instinctively pulling her closer to him, his eyes fastened onto hers, unable to look away as he whispered a final breathless question.

 

“Where?”

 

Tara gave him an indulgent wink, her hands on his arms squeezing gently as she softly countered, “You know where. All the strength – all the confidence – everything you need – you know right where you can find it?”

 

She paused for effect, before opening her mouth to answer her own rhetorical question with the single word she intended to say.

 

*Yourself*.

 

But before the word could leave her lips, Spike had answered the question, gazing into her eyes with clear adoration.

 

“In you.”

 

Tara’s eyes went wide, startled at the almost fierce devotion she heard in his hushed, awed voice, the passionate love and gratitude in his intent gaze. As she lay there, stunned to stillness, she saw the tentative question in Spike’s eyes, as his tongue darted out to anxiously lick his trembling lips, and he leaned in hesitantly toward her.

 

She was too startled to even think of pulling away – not that she really wanted to, anyway – and Spike took that as permission, closing the distance between them and softly, reverently brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was ironically chaste, coming from a vampire.

 

But as Tara had long been aware…Spike was no ordinary vampire.

 

 

Despite the barely-there contact of the kiss, Tara felt sparks of tingly electricity where his lips touched hers, shooting down through her and setting her entire body aflame with a desire she was trying hard to suppress.

 

And when Spike looked up at her again, a searching, pleading vulnerability in his eyes, begging her to throw her reserve away and give in with him to the desire he shared…well, it was all she could do to continue to think first of what he *needed* from her, rather than what they both were beginning to want so badly.

 

And it was certainly not going to help the situation, she realized ruefully, that the spell that would protect Spike from Buffy’s attacks in his dreams required Tara and Spike to be sleeping at the same time, and together.

 

She forced a brave smile to her face, meeting his eyes, aware that any sign of awkwardness or discomfort now would be more than the damaged vampire could take, and would only serve to reinforce his false ideas of his own worthlessness and undesirability.

 

Slowly, deliberately, she leaned in to return the kiss, holding contact for only a few moments before pulling back again. “I love you, Spike,” she whispered, adding after a moment, “No hurry. We have all the time in the world, Sweetheart.”

 

Spike seemed reassured by those words, nodding his acceptance and relaxing into her arms for a few moments longer, completely unaware of the troubled expression on Tara’s face as she stared into space over his shoulder.

 

*Everything he needs…in *me*?* A sick sensation settled in the pit of her stomach at that thought.

 

 “S’pose we’d best go down and let them all know we survived the spell, yeah?”

 

Tara’s initial impulse was to remind him that Willow and Wesley would already have done that, but she suppressed it, choosing instead to take advantage of the opportunity his words afforded her to escape a situation which could swiftly spin out of both their control, if they were not careful.

 

*Public place,* she thought urgently. *Now.*

 

“Yeah,” she agreed with a nod. “We’d better go on down.”

 

************************************

 

With a desperate gasp for air, as if just coming up from a long period underwater, Buffy sat up straight in bed, her eyes wide and panicked, her heart pounding madly. Wild-eyed, she looked around the darkened hotel room, disoriented and unsure of where she was at first.

 

Then, everything began to come back to her.

 

The others had left her, running off to Angel at the first sign of trouble, abandoning her to handle the task of getting Spike back all on her own.

 

It was actually kind of a relief.

 

Buffy frowned as she took in the candles she had lit for the ritual that would allow her to infiltrate Spike’s dreams. They had burned down nearly to nothing, dripping wax stalactites falling down from them, across the nightstands on which she had placed them. Her spellbook lay open on the bed beside her, open to the ritual that should have brought Spike that much closer to surrendering and coming back to her on his own.

 

Should have.

 

“Meddling witch,” Buffy muttered under her breath, throwing back her blankets and rising from the bed. “I’ll kill her. I’ll kill all of them…except Spike. He doesn’t get the luxury of death until I’m good and done with him, and that won’t be for a *very* long time!”

 

The more she talked and paced the floor, thinking about how she had been thwarted by the unexpected counter-spell Tara had devised, the more furious Buffy became. She was not accustomed to losing, and especially not to someone she had believed to be so thoroughly under her control as Spike.

 

A white hot rage consumed her as she thought of the tentatively confident words Spike had spoken in the dreamscape in which she had been trapped – words he would never have dared to speak to her before Tara had become involved in what did not concern her.

 

“This has gone far enough,” she declared to no one but herself as she opened her suitcase and through some clothes out on the bed. “That’s it. It’s over. I’m so getting that stupid sanctuary spell down, no matter what I have to do to do it, and then they’re all going to pay for making a fool out of me!”

 

She dressed quickly in a dark, tight-fitting top and a short, black leather skirt, arming herself with a few carefully chosen weapons, both standard Slayer issue and magical, before heading out the hotel room door and into the night. She had business in a darker, more dangerous area of L.A. where any other tiny, pretty blonde would have been insane to venture.

 

Any tiny, pretty blonde who was not also a vampire slayer, that is.

 

“You’re mine, Spike,” she muttered, her voice trembling with a dark, ominous anger. “And when I get through, you’re *never* going to forget it again!”


	63. Chapter 63

The lobby of the Hyperion was full of activity as Spike and Tara made their way downstairs, so much so that Tara could feel the tension and excitement and agitation in the air as she entered the room. Apparently, so could Spike, because his hand tightened slightly around hers in a subtle gesture of uncertainty, clinging to her as the one thing stable in a situation that seemed precarious and ever-shifting.

 

Dawn sat on the circular sofa with Lorne, turned almost completely toward him and away from the stairs, talking in a hushed but emphatic tone, her hand gestures making it clear that she was quite emotional about whatever was the topic of conversation. The green-skinned empath seemed to be just listening to her, nodding sympathetically on occasion, but mostly not saying anything as the young brunette talked.

 

Wesley and Anya were bent over the registration desk, poring over huge, intimidating texts, while Anya explained to the grim-faced Watcher what she had found so far. As she spoke, Wesley nodded in a satisfied way, without smiling, his jaw set with determination. What he had witnessed in Spike’s and Tara’s dreams had been enough to do away with any uncertainty he might have felt about helping the vampire.

 

Across the room from them, near the door, Willow sat huddled in a folding chair, her face in her hands, sobbing softly. Angel stood beside her, listening impassively as she tried to make the story come out in some kind of coherent manner, though his jaw was working with emotion, and it was clear that he was fighting to hold back the violent rage her words birthed in him anew.

 

Xander was crouched beside her, his hands on her knees as he spoke to her in a quiet, urgent voice, his eyes wide with horrified confusion as he tried to make his mind come to terms with what she had told him…and failed.

 

As Spike’s gaze came to rest on the young man that had hated him so fiercely in Sunnydale, Xander shook his head emphatically, declaring, “No…No, Will, it’s a mistake! It’s a trick of some kind, but it’s not real! Buffy wouldn’t…”

 

At that, Angel lost a bit of his composure, snarling in exasperation, “Are you that big of an idiot, boy? Can’t you just accept…”

 

But Xander was not paying attention to him. He heard Tara and Spike enter, and was now staring at the blond standing at the foot of the stairs. Xander’s eyes narrowed in anger as he stood up straight, turning and stalking furiously across the room toward Spike.

 

“You. This is *your* fault!”

 

“Xander, no!” Willow cried out in dismay.

 

“Xander…” Angel’s tone was decidedly less worried, and more angry, as he followed the boy toward where Spike and Tara stood.

 

Spike’s reaction was a different one entirely, as his mind brought an unbidden memory, a very similar advance by a different, more dangerous individual…

 

_“Get over here! Don’t you *dare* back away from me!”_

 

_Motions blended into a violent blur as she seized his hair and slammed his head back against the stone wall of his crypt, momentarily blinding him with pain and confusion._

 

_“This is all your fault, Spike…you know that, don’t you? You disgusting, stupid little idiot!” She punctuated the words with another vicious crack of his skull against the stone wall, his head exploding in pain and barely able to comprehend the words as she continued, “You and your big mouth! When I tell you not to talk about something, you keep your mouth *shut*, do you hear me!”_

 

_“Yes…yes, please, Buffy…please don’t…”_

 

“Please…don’t, please…”

 

“Xander, back off!” Willow cried out, and Spike realized through the disoriented haze of mingled memory and reality that she was much closer now than when he had last heard her voice. “*Xander*!”

 

He opened wide, panicked eyes, gasping for breath as he looked around and tried to get his bearings. He was standing with his back against the wall to the left of the stairs, his arms raised in front of him in a trembling, pleading shield against Xander’s furious advance. He looked up in alarm at a sudden movement to his left, realizing with relief that it was Angel coming up behind Xander.

 

The dark vampire drew back his fist, a growl sounding low in his throat as he swung at the young man – and was knocked backward by the sanctuary spell’s resistance to the attempt. He picked himself up off the floor, golden eyes narrowed and full of rage as he moved toward Xander again.

 

“Stop it!” Tara commanded suddenly, more authority in her voice than she was accustomed to displaying. “Both of you, just stop it!”

 

A sudden bolt of magical power flew from her fingertips, and Xander was sent staggering backward a few yards. At the same moment, Angel’s advance toward the boy was brought to a similar halt, as Tara moved purposefully to stand between them and Spike, her arms crossed over her chest, her jaw set in a firm, disapproving line.

 

They both just stared at her in silence for a long moment, before glancing around the room to take in the audience they had gained. From all areas of the room, the assembled group watched with apprehension and interest to see what would happen next.

 

Spike was gradually recovering from the impact of the traumatic flashback, and his head was bowed with shame as he realized the display he had put on in front of the others. He swallowed hard, unable to face any of them, unwilling to move and draw any further attention to himself. Seeing that Tara was otherwise occupied at the moment, Dawn rose quickly from the sofa and passed her to get to Spike, putting her arms around him and leading him quietly away from the confrontation, as Tara faced down the two men before her.

 

Feeling all at once awkward and self-conscious, both Angel and Xander looked at the floor, mumbling out grudging explanations.

 

“He started it! I was just looking out for Spike…”

 

“I wasn’t gonna hurt him…Angel was gonna bite me! That’s why the sanctuary spell went off…”

 

“Shut up!” Tara snapped. “Just…just stop!” She turned toward Angel first, declaring, “That was really stupid, and so not helping! Like the sanctuary spell would let you do anything to him, anyway!”

 

“Yeah,” Xander agreed petulantly. “Stupid vampire.”

 

“And you!”

 

Xander flinched, turning away from Angel as he found himself suddenly the focus of Tara’s wrath.

 

“What did you think you were trying to pull, going after Spike like that? After all he’s been through!”

 

“That’s still sort of up for debate,” Xander protested. “I’m still not sure I buy this whole…”

 

“And I’m not going to argue with you about it!” Tara cut him off, her eyes blazing with fury at Xander’s skeptical words. “It happened. Willow and Wesley both saw it, now. Xander, you have *got* to get over this idea that everything is somehow Spike’s fault, and your precious Buffy can do no wrong!”

 

“But…”

 

“She is a sadistic, abusive *monster*, and I realize that it’s hard for you to accept that. But, if you can’t…if you don’t want to be here and help us…then maybe you’d better go.”

 

Xander’s eyes widened as his mind went back to the nightmare image of his friend’s decaying, rotted face – the face Tara said was her true nature showing through. He swallowed hard, his expression stubborn, though his shoulders fell slightly.

 

“You can’t make me go,” he reminded Tara in a defiant tone. “This isn’t your place. This hotel belongs to Angel, and…” His voice trailed off as he realized the implications of his own words, and his fearful gaze turned toward the now-smirking vampire.

 

“Maybe you should just go talk to Willow for a while,” Tara suggested, her voice softer now, but no less authoritative. “And maybe you should actually *listen* to what she has to say this time.”

 

Reluctantly, Xander turned and moved back to where Willow sat across the room, and the others gradually began to drift back to what they had been doing. Angel went to the sofa, where Spike sat with Dawn, and Tara took the brief and rare opportunity to allow someone else to take over, leaning back against the wall behind her with a heavy sigh, covering her face with her hands as she struggled to regain her composure.

 

She started slightly when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, and looked up with surprise to see Lorne standing beside her, giving her a sympathetic smile.

 

“Gets a little exhausting, doesn’t it, cupcake?”

 

Unsure of his meaning, Tara shook her head slightly. “What?”

 

“Bearing the weight of someone else’s world.”

 

Tara blinked at him, startled, before releasing a weary sigh, looking away. “Haven’t got much choice, have I?” she pointed out. “He needs me.”

 

“No offense, pumpkin,” the empathy remarked, leaning back against the wall beside her, “but he needs more than that.”

 

Tara blinked back tears, but did not argue with his words. “Don’t think I don’t know that.”

 

“I know,” Lorne conceded. “It’s just…he’s gonna have a hard time finding it…as long as he thinks he already has.”

 

“But what am I *supposed* to do?” Tara protested in a voice of quiet anguish, raising a hand in supplicating question as she turned to face him, her eyes searching his face for the answer. “I can’t just…just abandon him! He’s been tortured, and raped, and abused, and had every ounce of power he ever had stripped away from him! He needs…”

 

“…to get it back.”

 

Tara fell silent, struck by Lorne’s words and waiting for him to go on.

 

“And I hate to break it to you, Sweetie…but right now, he’s not even trying.” Lorne was quiet for a moment, holding her eyes with his own piercing gaze. “He doesn’t have to. And as long as you’re keeping it that way…you’re not really helping him.”

 

“Then what can I do?” Tara asked in a desperate whisper, tears streaking her face. “How am I supposed to help him?”

 

Lorne gave her an encouraging smile as he gave her his answer.

 

“You’ve gotta find a way to help him get that power back, Honeybuns. He wasn’t always Buffy’s little victim. He used to be a powerful master vampire, feared and renowned and all that stuff in those books Wes’s so proud of. What you’ve got to do is help him find that guy again.”

 

Satisfied with his answer, Lorne leaned back against the wall again, gazing across the room at the blond vampire, now talking quietly on the sofa with Dawn and his sire. As he watched them, Lorne’s smile faded slightly, and he shrugged as he added a matter-of-fact amendment to his words.

 

“You know…without the mayhem and bloodshed and slaughter of innocents and all.”

 

**************************************

 

The bell on the door of the little all-night magic shop on Main Street jangled loudly, and the desk clerk, a young Bracken demon named Trang, looked up nervously from the paperback copy of *Pride and Prejudice* he had been reading. He was a firm believer that just because one was a soulless demon did not mean that they should be ignorant of classic literature.

 

Not that Trang was really all that soulless, anyway.

 

Or demonic, for that matter.

 

Trang was actually much more the quiet, bookish type than the violent, evil type. In fact, he wasn’t much of a fighter at all.

 

His anxious gaze fell on the doorway as he looked to see who – or what – his late-night customer might be. An authentic magic shop such as his did well to stay open late in a dark city such as this one; still, it was usually this time of night when the seriously scary customers decided to show up.

 

Tonight was no exception.

 

Trang’s stomach dropped as his senses informed him instantly that the tiny blonde who had just crashed her way into his shop was none other than the vampire Slayer.

 

His eyes widened and his mouth went dry with fear as he backed away from her. “S-slayer! Look, I…I’m not hurting anybody here. I’m just running a perfectly legal, reputable business…”

 

A smirk of cruel amusement twisted her features as she swiftly closed the distance between them, deftly hopping up onto the counter and swinging her legs around, crossing them gracefully, her black leather skirt riding up higher on her thighs as she casually swung her leg, regarding him with a calculating smile.

 

Trang had heard stories of this particular Slayer, this tiny, deadly blonde with the ridiculous name that belied her true power. Her casual manner only served to emphasize the ease with which she could destroy him, in an instant if she so chose, and he could feel the malevolent pleasure she took in his fear.

 

“Please,” he whimpered, his back to the wall as he tried in vain to put a little more distance between them, since she was now blocking his way to the small swinging gate that would allow him to come out from behind the counter. “Slayer, please…don’t…”

 

“Relax, Sweetie,” Buffy said in a deceptively soothing voice, sliding off the counter and moving further into the Bracken’s personal space.

 

She placed her hand on the wall beside Trang’s head, miraculously on the opposite side from where the gate was, and his eyes darted wildly toward it, mentally calculating the distance, and whether or not he might be able to reach it before she could stop him.

 

“I’m not going to hurt you…Trang…” the Slayer continued, her eyes dropping to read his name tag before locking onto his face again. “…as long as you can get me what I need. See, I’ve got a little problem with a spell I need taken down, and word is that you’re just the guy to help me with that problem, and if you try it, Sweetie, I’ll break your neck before you can get two steps. Understand?”

 

Trang nodded frantically, focusing on her, not daring to even glance toward the gate again. “I understand,” he assured her, his voice trembling with fear. “Please, Slayer…I’ll do whatever you want, just please…”

 

His voice broke off on a high, terrified note, and he flinched as she reached into the pocket of her impossibly tight skirt – and pulled out a tiny, crumpled piece of paper. His eyes met hers again in a nervous question, and he found that she was smiling expectantly up at him. She shook the paper slightly, rolling her eyes as she explained in a tone that suggested it should not have needed explaining.

 

“This is what I need. Do you have it?”

 

Trang struggled to focus enough to read the items on the list, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief when he realized that he actually carried all of them in stock. He nodded hurriedly.

 

“Yeah…yeah, we’ve got all that stuff. If you’ll just…just give me a second, I’ll get it for you…”

 

He started to move away from the wall, and for a moment it appeared that she would let him. Then she grabbed him by the back of the neck, yanking him back a few steps, and the terrified creature let out a yelp as she leaned in close to speak softly next to his ear.

 

“If it’s all the same to you, Sweetie, I think I’ll tag along. Wouldn’t want you to get antsy and try something stupid. You know, like, heading for that door over there. Somebody might get hurt.”

 

“No,” Trang whispered, his eyes closed, shaking his head in a panicked way, his hands raised in front of him in a pleading gesture. “No, I w-wouldn’t, please…”

 

“Shut up,” Buffy snapped, jerking him forward through the gate that led into the store, thrusting him violently toward the shelves, while keeping herself between him and the front door.

 

Though his hands were shaking almost too hard to grasp the items she wanted, Trang somehow managed to gather them all, and made his way under her watchful eye back to the counter and behind it, where he took a bag and began to load the items hurriedly, all too eager to get the Slayer satisfied and on her way.

 

“Th-that’ll be $16.22,” he told her in an almost apologetic voice, his eyes on the counter in front of him as he pushed the bag across the counter to her.

 

“You know, Honey…I’m running a little low on cash at the moment,” Buffy informed him in a confidential sort of tone, sliding through the gate and sidling toward him, causing the terrified demon to back up too quickly against the far counter, knocking a couple of displays off in his panicked rush. “You don’t suppose you could…help me out a little, do you?”

 

Trang nodded desperately, his eyes closed as she reached a hand up to touch his face. “Yeah, no problem, Slayer. No problem, on the house…just…just, please…”

 

“You’re a doll, Sweetie.” Buffy smirked at his fear, her tone deceptively friendly and appreciative as her hand at his cheek came to rest on his throat, and he swallowed convulsively under her touch. “You, uh…working here all alone tonight?”

 

Trang nodded mindlessly, not really thinking about the question, just desperate to get her out of his store. “Yeah, just me…”

 

“So…when’s the next shift start? When’s somebody show up to relieve you?”

 

“Not until…” Trang’s voice trailed off, his eyes opening wide as he stared at her in shocked, horrified understanding. “I-I mean…any minute now…”

 

In the first display of clear violence since she had walked into the store, the Slayer backhanded him viciously, gripping his throat and bending him backward over the counter until his head smacked painfully against the glass as she snarled in a low, hard voice,

 

“Try. Again.”

 

“Two hours,” Trang fairly sobbed. “Please, please don’t…”

 

Buffy gripped his hair and yanked him up straight before turning him around so that his back was to her and shoving him forcefully to his knees on the tile floor. Trang let out a soft, suppressed cry of pain and fear, shaking violently now, his shoulders quaking with sobs.

 

“Please,” he begged her. “Please, I’ve done everything you said…I’m not doing anything wrong, please, Slayer, don’t…”

 

“I know, I know all that, Sweetie,” Buffy assured him, her harsh hand in his hair gentling to a deceptive caress as she went on sadly, “But…we’ve still got a little problem. You see…this ritual I’m preparing for…I bet you noticed it’s pretty dark stuff, huh?”

 

Trang nodded, whispering frantically as she circled him slowly in a predatory way, “None of my business…”

 

“Damn right,” Buffy sneered, delivering a light, warning slap to the back of his head, more frightening than painful. “But still…it’s not the kind of thing I’m sure I want getting out just yet…the vampire Slayer, messing with the dark magic, you know? I mean…sooner or later the general public’s gonna figure out that I’m not quite…the same, as I used to be. But I think for now I’d rather it was later.”

 

She crouched down behind him, soft, strong fingertips encircling his throat in a chillingly gentle gesture as she whispered in his ear, “How can I trust you not to talk, Trang?”

 

“I won’t,” he insisted, pleading for his life. “Please, I swear, Slayer, I won’t say a word! I’ll never tell anyone! No one, not even my fiancée and I tell her everything. Her name is Alena; she’s having my baby, Slayer…it’s a girl, and we’re gonna call her Sharia. I’m gonna have a family! Please, please don’t do this to me! Please don’t…”

 

“You think I care about your disgusting little demon family, you repulsive little piece of trash?” the Slayer snarled venomously, and Trang flinched, sobbing harder. Her tone shifted in an instant, back to calm and friendly, as she shrugged and conceded, “But…you *have* been very helpful. You’ve done everything I said so far. So…I guess I’ve got no reason not to believe you…no reason to kill you, really.”

 

Trang allowed himself to hope, his heart leaping within him as he heard her take a couple of slow, measured footsteps toward the gate.

 

“Except…” The footsteps stopped, and Trang’s heart with them for a moment. “…for one, maybe…”

 

The mild-mannered Bracken tensed as he felt her powerful hands on his neck from behind him, felt her crouch down just beside and behind him to whisper in his ear in a cold voice of malicious pleasure.

 

“…because it’s fun.”

 

His eyes widened in horror, and he realized that she was actually going to do it, in the instant before she broke his neck and took his life.

 

Without a backward glance, the Slayer picked up her grocery bag and sauntered out the door into the night, leaving the body of Alina’s fiancée and Sharia’s father lifeless on the floor like so much abandoned garbage. She didn’t have time to worry about one more demon in the long line of those she had slain; it didn’t matter to her in the least that this particular demon had been clearly harmless.

 

She had more important matters with which to concern herself.


	64. Chapter 64

“All right. Is everyone here?”

 

Wesley’s polite, quiet voice drew the chatter of the assembled group to a gradual stop, as all eyes in the room turned expectantly toward him. Fred and Anya stood with him behind the reception desk with their books spread out before them. A short while earlier they had requested that the group gather to hear what they had found so far.

 

“Right. Then, let’s get started.”

 

Angel stood near the desk, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set with determination as he waited in silence. The others were all seated in various places around the room, some in actual chairs, others on the floor, for lack of enough seating for the rather larger than usual group. Spike sat on the floor, his back against the wall, with Tara and Dawn at his sides. Dawn’s hand was resting on his knee in a comfortable gesture of friendship and support, while Tara’s hand was clasped tightly in his.

 

Spike drew in a deep, shaky breath, glancing downward before focusing bravely on the ex-Watcher again, waiting apprehensively to see if they had found a way to break Buffy’s hold over him. The sanctuary spell kept him physically safe for the moment, but if he could not set foot outside the hotel without falling prey to the Slayer again, than he was still as much enslaved as ever.

 

Something had to be done.

 

But was there anything that *could* be done?

 

“We have discovered a ritual which can break the bond Buffy has placed on Spike, and allow him to defend himself against her again. However, it may prove too difficult to be effective in any practical sense,” Wesley explained with an apologetic grimace.

 

“Why’s that?” Angel demanded in a terse, impatient tone of voice which was no more than a sign of his concern for his childe’s wellbeing. “Are the ingredients hard to come by? You guys translated the spell, right?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Wesley assured him. “We’ve translated the text, and it’s really not all that complex. And all the ingredients for the spell are things that we have on hand in the hotel, so no one need even risk their safety by venturing outside. What makes the ritual so difficult for us is…well, it’s…”

 

“Buffy’s blood.”

 

Wesley glanced over at Spike with a grim nod, his expression solemn as he took in the vampire’s carefully controlled expression, noted with compassion how he was struggling to keep his fear from showing on his face. “Precisely,” he softly conceded. “The ritual requires the blood of the Slayer and Spike’s blood to mingle on a certain spot.”

 

“We can’t risk facing her outside the boundaries of the sanctuary spell,” Anya pointed out. “But we can’t shed her blood in here.”

 

“Not without taking the sanctuary spell down,” Fred clarified with an apologetic glance in Spike’s direction when the vampire drew in a sharp, alarmed breath. “And…I’m not sure that’s something we really want to do.”

 

“We may not have a choice.”

 

Spike looked up at Angel in fearful surprise, his throat going dry with terror at the thought of taking down the one thing that was keeping Buffy away from him. Tara’s soft intake of breath beside him alerted him to just how tightly he was squeezing her hand, and he deliberately eased his grip, lowering his head, drawing in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself.

 

“How long does the ritual itself take?” Angel asked, a thoughtful frown on his face. “After you get Buffy’s blood?”

 

“Ten minutes?” Wesley guessed with a little shrug, glancing at Anya for confirmation.

 

The former vengeance demon nodded her agreement before giving Angel an expectant look.

 

“What other requirements are there for this ritual?” Tara asked, concern in her voice. “We need to see if we can find a workable plan, so it might help if we know what is and isn’t an option.”

 

“Well, the blood of both Spike and Buffy has to be shed in the same spot – within the ritual circle,” Wesley explained, turning toward the blonde witch and meeting her eyes. “Which we can form here in the hotel if we like. And their blood doesn’t necessarily have to be shed at the same time, so…it’s not as if Spike would have to…well…”

 

An awkward moment of silence descended as Wesley’s voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. Spike felt a burning shame heat his face at the unspoken words Wesley had left out. He knew that the other man had been trying to be considerate, assuring him that he would not necessarily have to be in close proximity to Buffy for the ritual, but Spike felt no relief about that at the moment; all he could feel was shame and humiliation at having to be so sheltered and protected by this group of humans.

 

“So, how does it work?” Willow spoke up in a slightly awkward attempt to break the tension and bring them back to the subject at hand. “We make the circle with the ingredients and all...Spike’s blood should be easy enough, we can just get a little and put it in the circle. Now, assuming we find a way to get Buffy’s blood as well…what then? What happens next?”

 

“The person performing the spell has to mingle their blood. There’s a ritual chant,” Anya answered her question with a bored shrug. “And that’s it. Once the chant is finished, the mark in his flesh should disappear, and Buffy’s power over Spike will be broken.”

 

“Good,” Angel remarked with an approving nod. “I don’t want that thing left on him any longer than necessary. The last thing we need to get into with Buffy is some kind of hostage situation, which is highly likely if he can’t defend himself against her. As long as the sanctuary spell is down and that bond is still up – we’re vulnerable.”

 

Spike felt his humiliation increase, lowering his gaze to his own legs and swallowing back a hard knot that rose in his throat as the others discussed him and his possible fate almost as if he was not even there. He heard the unspoken words Angel was too tactful to voice.

 

*Spike makes us vulnerable…as long as the bond’s in place, he’s a weakness…*

 

The problem was, Spike wasn’t quite sure that he would cease to be such a weakness once the bond was broken.

 

The bond was not the only thing that kept him from defending himself against Buffy.

 

“Okay, so…one question.”

 

Angel and Wesley both turned their attention on Lorne, who had raised his hand tentatively.

 

“So…we break the bond and Spike’s his own man again. What then?” When no one responded for a moment, he clarified, “We’ll still have a psychopathic Slayer on our hands, only she’ll pretty much throw a bigger temper tantrum than ever at that point, once we take all her toys away. So…what are we going to do with her?”

 

Everyone fell silent for a few moments, considering the rather frightening question.

 

“There’s like, a dozen of us,” Gunn pointed out with a shrug. “We ought to be able to take her, right? I mean…she’s strong, but…so’s Angel, and so’s Spike, and me…not to mention that the rest of us aren’t exactly beginners at this whole thing.”

 

“Have you ever tried to take on a Slayer before?” Angel asked the young man, a bit more tersely than he had intended.

 

Gunn shrugged again. “No. I think I’ve always been pretty much on the same side as the Slayer before now.”

 

“She’s stronger than you can imagine,” Wesley informed Gunn, his expression solemn and warning. “Between the lot of us, we might have the power and resources to subdue her, but it won’t be an easy task. She’s physically stronger than any of us, and if she realizes that any sort of spell is being performed, she’ll naturally do her best to stop the one performing it. Once the sanctuary spell is down, we’ll *all* be in grave danger.”

 

“Okay, but let’s say we even manage to…to stop her,” Xander broke in, alarm in his voice as he searched the grim faces of the apparent leaders of the group. “How exactly are we going to go about that? I mean…okay, it really does seem like something’s majorly wrong with her, I’ll give you that; but we have no idea *what* is wrong with her – whether or not it can be fixed. If we can help her, we need to!”

 

“I’m sorry, but right now I’m not so much concerned with helping her as just *stopping* her,” Tara countered, her tone firm but not unkind. “She’s really crossed a lot of lines, here, Xander. I’m not sure she’s even the same girl at all anymore. Our main concern needs to be getting her under control, making sure she doesn’t do any more damage to anyone…at whatever cost that might be.”

 

“Okay, right.” Willow nodded slowly in agreement. “I get that. Priority number one needs to be keeping her from hurting anybody else. But say we do. How are we gonna handle it once we *do* get her under control?”

 

“How are we going to get her under control in the first place?” Anya asked pointedly in a dark, ominous voice.

 

“We’ll need to figure out a way to restrain her,” Angel replied. “Keep her from doing any more damage until we can figure out what exactly went wrong with her and whether or not it’s fixable.”

 

“We should be able to manage that,” Wesley mused, frowning a moment later as he added in a troubled voice, “We still have the means to keep her restrained, even considering her Slayer strength. That is, of course, if we’re able to subdue her at all.”

 

“We need to have a definite plan,” Fred observed. “Know for sure what we’re doing before we start doing it. Or this isn’t gonna work.”

 

“We will,” Angel assured her calmly, a slow smile spreading across his face, his dark eyes lighting up with pleasure as he cast his thoughtful gaze around the room at all of them in turn. “We will. Now listen closely, guys. This is what we’re gonna do.”

 

***********************************

 

As Angel outlined his plan, Spike found himself sinking deeper and deeper into his own circling, troubled thoughts, paying very little attention to what his sire was saying. His mind was awash with doubts and uncertainties, birthed anew by a hundred little things the well-meaning people surrounding him had said.

 

What if Angel’s plan didn’t work? It seemed to be dependent in many ways on split-second perfect timing, and everything going precisely as planned with no variances of any kind. This ragtag little band of mostly strangers was going to have to work together in perfect cooperation in order to bring about the success they needed.

 

And Spike knew very well what were the chances of *that* actually happening.

 

What if they couldn’t get her blood to fall in exactly the right place at the right time? What if they tried, and failed, to subdue Buffy? What if they broke the bond, but she still managed to hurt Tara, or Dawn, before they could stop her?

 

And the worst question of all kept circling around in Spike’s mind, taunting him with vicious self-directed insults and judgments, all remembered words from Buffy’s lips.

 

*What if you can’t do it? What if even with the bond removed, you still can’t stand up to her? You’re nothing but a pathetic, worthless little coward, anyway! You’re sure to let them all down – to fail them. She’s going to kill them all – and it’s all going to be your fault!*

 

Spike was vaguely aware of Tara’s concerned look as he pulled his hand abruptly away from hers, crossing his arms defensively across his knees, lowering his head momentarily into them and breathing deeply as he struggled to regain his composure, to steady his thoughts.

 

“Spike?” Tara spoke his name in a voice that was barely even a whisper, and an instant later Spike felt her gentle fingertips on the back of his neck, rubbing slowly in a soothing circular motion. “You okay?”

 

Spike couldn’t bring himself to respond, swallowing back the sick feeling in his throat as he suddenly felt surrounded, trapped, by the roomful of people who were all focused on helping *him*, rescuing him for good from his former abuser.

 

Their intentions didn’t matter; he was suffocating.

 

He nodded abruptly, murmuring in hurried response to Tara’s question, “Yeah, love. Fine. Just…just need to…to…”

 

“To what, Spike?” Tara pressed him gently in a whisper, her hand resting lightly on the nape of his neck, fingers playing easily through his blond curls as he raised his head and gave her a weak smile that was not at all convincing. “You need to what?”

 

Spike stared at her blankly for a moment before replying, “Not be here.”

 

With those words, he lurched hurriedly to his feet. “Excuse me,” he mumbled as he strode swiftly out of the now-silent group and toward the staircase, far too aware that all eyes were on him in curiosity and concern.

 

Tara watched him disappear up the stairs, a worried frown creasing her brow. She hesitated just a moment, reconsidering her previous resolve to leave some of Spike’s problems to him for the solving, in order to help him lose some of his dependency on her. Then, she considered Spike, upstairs alone and confused and upset, and utterly at the emotional mercy of the Slayer should she decide to show up in his bedroom again.

 

It was an easy decision.

 

Repeating Spike’s softly spoken words, “Excuse me,” Tara rose to her feet and slipped away from the group, following her vampire up the stairs.


	65. Chapter 65

Tara carefully ignored the curious looks the others cast her way as she followed Spike away from the group and up the stairs. Halfway up the staircase, she heard Angel clear his throat and go on quietly talking, and she felt a sense of warmth and gratitude come over her for the dark vampire, and his tactful effort to keep the others distracted.

 

She stopped outside the door to the room she and Spike had been sharing, drawing in a deep breath in preparation for the difficult conversation she knew was to come. Steeling herself, she twisted the knob…and found that it would not turn. It was locked.

 

“Spike?” she called softly. “Spike, it’s me. Sweetie…open the door?”

 

Only silence greeted her request.

 

“Spike. Please.”

 

There was still no response, and Tara gave up for the moment, though not for good, sitting down on the floor with her back to the door to wait until Spike was ready to let her in. She was surprised a few moments later when she finally heard the quiet click of the lock being turned. She hesitated a moment before opening the door and venturing inside, not looking up until she had closed the door behind her and carefully locked it.

 

Spike was standing near the window, staring out into the night through haunted eyes. He looked up sharply at the sound of the locking door, staring at it for a moment before meeting her eyes in a quiet question. His face was streaked with the drying tracks of tears, and there was a hopeless expression in his gaze that was heartbreaking to the woman who loved him more than her own life.

 

Tara said nothing as she slowly moved toward him, just as far as the bed, where she sat down on the side facing him and patted the space beside her encouragingly.

 

“Come here.”

 

Spike stared blankly at her tapping hand for a moment before obeying, though the action seemed to be motivated by nothing more than the habit of obedience he had learned from his torment at Buffy’s hands. His shoulders remained stiff and his body unresponsive as Tara wrapped a gentle arm around him, giving him a speculative sideways look.

 

“Okay. So what’s this about?”

 

Spike did not answer right away, just sat there tense and silent and giving her every impression that he did not want her to even touch him at the moment, and did not intend to respond. Just when Tara was about to back off and pull her arm back away from him, Spike finally spoke in a hoarse, despairing whisper.

 

“I can’t do this, Tara.”

 

“Of course you can, Sweetheart,” Tara assured him, gently squeezing his shoulders. “It’s not gonna be easy…but you can do this.”

 

Spike shook his head in denial, his eyes lowered, but his shoulders sagged as he gave in, leaning into her embrace with his head turned into her shoulder. “I can’t. Not if it means…not if it means facing her, again…without the bleedin’ sanctuary spell in place.” He laughed, a soft, bitter sound, as he added, “Bloody hell, love, can barely face her now, knowin’ she can’t touch me. How am I supposed to…?” He raised his head and shook it again with a despairing sigh.

 

“Spike…it’s going to be all right. We have a plan. A *good* plan. And…”

 

“A soddin’ dangerous plan is what it is,” Spike countered dubiously, his hand reaching up to nervously clasp hers in her lap, and Tara felt it trembling with the fear he was struggling to suppress. “Leaves her free to do whatever she wants for however long it takes Watcher Boy to finish the spell. And that’s *if* she doesn’t notice he’s doin’ it and kill him before he can finish it.”

 

“That’s not going to happen.” Tara’s voice was firm…and carried just a touch of impatience. “Spike, you have to think positively about this. It’s going to work out fine, Sweetie. And it’s going to be *over*, okay? It’s going to be worth it, because it’s finally going to be over.”

 

Spike was quiet for a moment, considering her words with a cautiously hopeful expression in his eyes…which gradually faded away. “No,” he said in a voice of soft resignation. “It’s not. It’ll never be…never be *over*, Tara. Not after…it’ll never be over.”

 

Tara hesitated, thinking about his words, and about the words Lorne had spoken to her the day before. And then, after a long moment’s painful consideration, she made a very difficult decision, and gently withdrew her hand from Spike’s as she spoke in a voice that was compassionate but unyielding.

 

“No. Not until you let it be.”

 

Spike stared first at his newly empty hand, then up at her solemn, stern face. His voice was hushed, trembling and vulnerable as he asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Tara’s heart pounded, her stomach fluttering with a sick, anxious feeling that she was doing the wrong thing, but she determined to continue down the course of action she had begun. She looked down at the bed between them for a moment as she turned sideways to more fully face Spike.

 

“Just…just that you have to learn to be strong again, Spike. Sooner or later, if you ever want to get past this, you’re going to *have* to face her. You’re going to have to face her like you’ve faced a thousand other enemies over the last two centuries.”

 

Spike stared at her, and Tara winced inwardly at the rising emotion that was suspiciously like betrayal in his eyes. “I…I can’t,” he insisted, desperation in his shaking voice. “I’m not…not even the same person I was for those two centuries, love! I don’t have…what I had then. She…she t-took it from me, and…”

 

“…and you have to take it back.”

 

Spike blinked back tears, shaking his head in bewilderment. “*How*?”

 

“By standing up to her. On your own.”

 

The blond vampire’s eyes went wide with terror at the very thought, as he reached out his hand to grasp hers again in a desperate, pleading gesture. “No,” he whispered. “No, I…if I even try, love…she’ll…she’ll…”

 

“She won’t be able to hurt you if you don’t let her, Spike,” Tara stated, rising smoothly to her feet and taking Spike’s hand in both of hers, only long enough to give it an affectionate squeeze, and firmly return it to his own lap. “I love you. And I want to help you, Spike. But…but I’m afraid that by helping too much, I’m…I’m not really helping you at all. If you don’t stand up to her…*soon*…you never will. And no matter what happens to Buffy tomorrow, you’ll spend the rest of your life in fear.”

 

Spike watched her through fearful, disbelieving eyes as she started back toward the door. “Are you… Tara, are you *leaving me*?”

 

Tara stopped, turning back to face him with a sympathetic shake of her head. “No, Spike,” she assured him. “I’m giving you the room you need to stand on your own…but I’m not leaving you. I’ll never leave you.”

 

Spike blinked in astonishment as she turned again and walked out the bedroom door, closing it softly behind her. She walked only as far as the next door down the hall, the room where Dawn had been sleeping, which was currently empty. Once that door was closed, Tara lay down across the bed and allowed her tears to flow.

 

However, she had only been there for a few brief moments when the door she had just closed slammed open with enough violence to make her jump, sitting up and whirling around to face the unexpected intruder.

 

It was Spike.

 

He stood there in the doorway, glaring at her through tear-filled blue eyes that glittered with anger and hurt.

 

“Not leaving me, eh?” he echoed her words skeptically. “’Cause it bloody well looks like you are!”

 

“Spike,” Tara insisted gently, rising to her feet. “I’m not. I’m doing this for you…”

 

“No, you’re *doing* this because you’re *sick* of me!” he cut her off as he walked into the room, forcefully closing the door behind him. His voice trembled dangerously as his tears streamed down his face. “Because you’re ready to be soddin’ rid of the useless baggage you’ve been cartin’ around for the past two weeks! Knew you would be, sooner or later – knew you’d tire of the Florence Nightingale routine an’ throw me out in the end!”

 

Tara flinched in hurt at his words, but she reminded herself that they were spoken out of his own hurt and fear. “Spike, you know that’s not true…”

 

“Of course it is!” he snapped, moving in closer to her, his eyes narrowed in fury as his tears continued to fall. “I know I’m a soddin’ pathetic wreck, Tara! I know I’m not worth your time, all right? Knew it all along. But you…you told me…you *promised* me… you w-wouldn’t leave me. And if you…if you couldn’t…k-keep that promise…” Spike’s voice became halting as his emotions began to overcome him, and he struggled to get the rest out past the sobs that choked him. “…if you knew you were gonna get tired of me and cast me aside again…then you sh-should have…should have just left me in that bloody basement.”

 

“Don’t say that,” Tara whispered, her heart stilling momentarily with his words, her eyes widening in horror. “Spike, don’t say that. I could *never* have just…you have no idea…”

 

“No, *you* have no idea!” Spike cried out in a voice full of such anguish that it brought her objections to an abrupt halt. “You have no soddin’ idea what it was like! What she *did* to me, Tara! The things she did…the things she…m-made me…”

 

Tara’s heart smote her with guilt, and her eyes welled with fresh tears as she moved toward him, longing for nothing more than to reach out to him. “Spike,” she whispered. “I know…I know…”

 

Her voice broke off when she reached him, reaching out a soft hand to touch his arm…and he jerked abruptly away from her touch as from a blow, his eyes averted, focused on the floor between them.

 

“No,” he choked out the word in a whisper through his tears. “You don’t *know*, Tara. You don’t *know*.” He was silent for a moment, his pain swelling between them like a living thing, filling the room and overwhelming them both as he added in an aching, broken voice, “You *don’t* know…what it is that you’re asking me to…to just *get over* -- what it is that you’re expectin’ me to…to deal with alone…”

 

Tara blinked, and the tears that filled her eyes fell in heavy drops, staining her blouse and the floor at her feet. “Spike…” she began, remorse weighting her tone.

 

“Nothing. Disgusting monster. Useless, worthless whore, only good for one thing, and that’s her pleasure.” Spike looked up at her through dull, desolate eyes, taking in her stricken expression with blank indifference. “That’s what she told me I am, Tara. That’s what she *showed* me I am. And I…I c-can’t forget it. No matter how hard I try to…to b-block it out…to believe that it’s n-not true…it still is. It *is* true…”

 

“No, it’s not…”

 

“I’m nothing but what she says I am, Tara,” Spike persisted, ignoring her whispered objection, pausing to meet her eyes once more as he concluded in a hushed, still sort of voice that echoed in the otherwise silent room. “Until…until you tell me different.”

 

Tara felt her entire being freeze, overwhelmed by the weight of what he was telling her, what he was putting on her. She shook her head slightly in denial as he went on, his quiet voice desperate and pleading.

 

“I could be s-strong, Tara…if you’re there to…to remind me. But…if…if you’re not with me, Tara…then…then all I am is…is what she made me. I…I need you. To…to help me remember…”

 

In that moment, Tara was fully convinced that Lorne was wrong. Spike needed her, at his side, holding him, guiding him, through this. He was convinced that he could not succeed against Buffy without her, and if only for that reason…he was right. How could she possibly abandon him, now when he needed her most?

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, edging nearer to him again. “Spike, I’m sorry…I was just…just trying to…”

 

Spike backed away as she moved forward, and her voice trailed off in dismay. “Don’t,” he whispered, shaking his head, his expression crumpled with shame and despair. “Tara…you don’t have to. I know that you don’t…don’t want to…”

 

“That’s not true…”

 

“It’s too much…too much to ask,” Spike cut her off, though he could not even bring himself to look her in the eyes, his head bowed under the weight of his heartache and humiliation. “Too much to expect that you could…could give me that much. You’re right. Gotta…gotta learn to stand alone. ‘S just…just I’m not sure I…but…but it’s too much to ask of a person, love. I get that.”

 

Spike nodded in a sad, resolute way, and Tara’s heart broke for his attempt at bravery in the face of his desperate need.

 

“No, Spike, it’s not…” Tara insisted as she reached out to touch him again.

 

Spike flinched back away from her, protesting, “*Don’t*! Tara, d-don’t…please. Just…just…”

 

“Just what, Spike?” Tara pressed him gently, trying to catch his gaze, her voice tinged with desperation as she struggled to find the way to put right what she had unintentionally broken. “I’m so sorry. I was trying to help you, I swear it, Spike. But…but I’ll do whatever you need me to do, okay? What do you need me to do?”

 

Spike finally looked up at her, longing and determination mingled in his eyes. “I need you to…to…” He swallowed hard, his gaze faltering as he struggled over words that contradicted his previous impassioned plea, “…I need you to leave me alone.”

 

Tara frowned in concern, shaking her head. “Spike…no…”

 

“*Please*.”

 

The soft plea arrested her attention, and Tara stopped talking, swallowing back a sob that stuck in her throat and choked her, as Spike clarified his request.

 

“I need…need to deal with this, Tara. Need to…to learn to not…not lean so much on you. On anyone. So please, just…just…”

 

Tara waited silently for him to finish, already expecting the words…yet still stunned and stung by them when they came.

 

“…just stay away.”

 

Without looking her in the eye, without waiting for a response, Spike turned and walked out the door, closing it firmly behind him.


	66. Chapter 66

When Spike left the room, Tara immediately went to the door, her hand on the handle, ready to follow him. Her heart hurt with the anguish of betrayal and abandonment she had heard in his voice, and she wanted nothing more than to find Spike, take him in her arms, reassure him that no matter what he went through, she would be there with him for every step, every challenge.

 

She wanted to…but she didn’t.

 

Although the conversation had not gone at all as she had planned, Tara had to admit that the end result might be a good one. Spike had chosen of his own volition to walk away from her, to make the decision to stand on his own…which was what she had wanted him to do in the first place.

 

She just had not expected it to hurt so much when he did.

 

She walked out of the room and hesitated at the top of the stairs. She was almost certain that Spike had gone into the bedroom they had been sharing, and wanted to give him the space he needed; so she went downstairs to finish planning with the others.

 

A couple of hours later, when all were getting ready to settle down for the night, Tara made her way back up the stairs and quietly into the bedroom, knowing that as awkward as it might be, there was no other option. She and Spike had to quite literally *sleep* together in order for the dream bonding spell to work, and protect him from Buffy’s invasions into his dreams.

 

He was lying on the bed, his back to her, and he did not stir when she walked in…but she knew he was awake.

 

Without a word, she slowly lay down on the bed on her side, her troubled grey eyes staring at the back of his head for a moment before she reached a cautious hand out to rest on his arm. They were both well aware that in order for the protective mind-melding spell to work, they had to be in some form of physical contact, so Spike did not pull away from her…but he did tense, flinching slightly at the warm touch of her hand.

 

And when he did…Tara flinched, too.

 

She was quiet for a long moment, as a thick ache began to build in her throat. Finally she whispered in a voice hoarse with emotion, “I do love you, Spike. So much. I do.”

 

Spike did not respond, did not turn or look at her at all, but Tara felt the slight tremor of his arm under her hand, and knew that her words had affected him– she was just not sure how. Spike remained silent and still, only tolerating her touch, and Tara quietly maintained that simple contact, her heart breaking with the knowledge that at the moment, he did not want it.

 

**************************************

 

Spike tensed at the gentle touch of Tara’s hand on his arm, not wanting to move closer to her or respond in any way, acutely wary lest he should display any further signs of the pitiful neediness which was clearly doing just what Buffy had told him it would do – driving Tara away.

 

He fought off a sense of rising panic at the thought that he might have lost her completely already, wondering frantically, not for the first time, if it was too late to undo the damage his need and vulnerability had caused. Obviously Tara had tired of him, and the only way he could possibly repair their relationship was to give her the distance she needed.

 

So, he just lay there, perfectly still, afraid to turn toward her and reveal the tears in his eyes, the vulnerability he was feeling, trying to appear as if he was indifferent to her tender, affectionate touch.

 

All he really wanted was to turn into her arms and hold onto her as if he would never let go.

 

*************************************

 

By the next afternoon, tensions among the mottled group gathered in the Hyperion had risen to an almost unbearable pitch. Angel had made the wise decision not to put his plan into action until after dark, so as to allow an escape for Spike should any part of the plan go wrong.

 

There was only one problem with that decision – and that was the long, stressful day of waiting that stretched before them.

 

A few of them were busy enough throughout the day that the waiting was not an issue for them. Wesley, Anya and Fred were occupied with gathering the necessary supplies for the spell, and other preparations to ensure that the ritual went off without a problem. Angel just generally hovered, checking and double-checking various things, in what mostly seemed to be just an attempt at keeping himself busy.

 

Spike and Tara tried their best to avoid each other – and Dawn did her best to figure out why.

 

“Spike,” she whispered, drawing the increasingly nervous vampire aside. “What is up with you two?”

 

“What do you mean, Bit?” He carefully avoided her eyes. “Nothing’s up. Everything’s fine…”

 

“Right. That’s why you won’t even look at Tara, right? Or me, for that matter,” Dawn countered dubiously. Suddenly her eyes went wide with childish dismay. “Did you guys have a fight? You didn’t, did you?”

 

“Course not,” Spike assured her, shaking his head, keeping his gaze averted as he tried to slip past her.

 

But Dawn moved into his path again, blocking his escape, her jaw dropping in a stunned expression. “You did, didn’t you? Oh my gosh. You guys actually had a *fight*?” Her voice rose on the last statement, high and anxious.

 

“Keep it down, Bit, will you?” Spike hushed her, reaching out a hand to touch her arm as he glanced anxiously around to see if anyone had overheard her, before finally looking her in the eye, his gaze troubled and pleading. “Just don’t say anythin’, all right? It’s nobody’s business but our own, and…and it wasn’t really a fight, anyway. Just…just can’t expect the girl to…I mean…”

 

He turned his head away abruptly, laughing silently at his own tears even as he reached a hand up to brush them away.

 

Dawn’s brow creased in a frown of concern. “Spike…are you okay?”

 

“Just…give me a minute, Bit,” Spike mumbled, edging past her and hurrying away, up the stairs, before he could unintentionally reveal any more of his unwilling emotional reaction.

 

With a frustrated, worried sigh, Dawn watched him go up the stairs before turning around again, scanning the room for Tara.

 

“More than one way…”

 

*********************************

 

By the time Angel called the group together, an hour before sunset, Dawn still had not managed to find the answers to her questions. Tara had proven to be no more forthcoming than Spike had been. As the group gathered in the lobby, most talking quietly in hushed, anxious tones of worry and anticipation, Dawn glared at her two friends in turn as they took seats on opposite sides of the room.

 

The girl had a moment’s indecision, as she tried to figure out whose side she should take, while not knowing what had actually happened between the two of them. Finally, she decided that sides didn’t really matter; what mattered was which of them really *needed* her more at the moment, and that was certainly Spike, especially now that, for whatever reason, Tara was no longer at his side.

 

She crossed the room and silently sat down beside the nervous blond vampire, stubbornly not looking at him for a long moment. He glanced uncertainly up at her through fearful blue eyes, increasingly troubled as the moment to put Angel’s plan into place drew nearer. He was well aware that Dawn was irritated with him, and not quite sure what to expect from her at the moment.

 

“I’m still mad,” she assured him bluntly, without looking at him, even as she reached out her hand and clasped it firmly around his. “Just so you know.”

 

Her petulant display of affection, both mature and childlike at the same time, drew a smile to Spike’s lips in spite of the many reasons for worry he had at the moment. He gratefully squeezed her hand, glancing unconsciously across the room to where Tara sat next to Lorne, waiting for Angel to begin going over the plan for the final time.

 

Just as Tara felt his eyes upon her and turned her head, Spike looked away, swallowing back the sick feeling of rising panic in his throat. Though Dawn’s comfort was a welcome help to him, without Tara at his side, his terror and uncertainty began to overwhelm him, suffocating him until he felt that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t even begin to focus on what Angel was saying.

 

“Okay,” the dark vampire began, rising to his feet and leaning against the reception desk with his hands in his pockets, his casual demeanor belying the solemn, anxious expression on his face. “I think we’re about ready. We’ve got less than an hour before dark. So let’s just go over the whole thing one more time. Wes?” He turned toward the former Watcher. “Everything ready in your department?”

 

Wesley nodded. “We’ve prepared the ritual circle in the lobby. All that’s left is for Willow to perform the glamour to disguise it when Buffy comes in. All the supplies are in place as well, near the circle so that I’ll have easy access to them when the time comes.”

 

“Right,” Angel nodded once in satisfaction, his eyes locked with Wesley’s as he added calmly, “And the knife?”

 

“The knife is with the other supplies,” Wesley assured him.

 

“Good. So…when Buffy first comes in, the sanctuary spell will still be in place. We’ll leave it there until just before we need to draw her blood for the bond-breaking spell.” He turned toward Lorne. “And you’re absolutely sure all I need to break the sanctuary spell is this single word?”

 

“Positive, sugar,” Lorne replied. “Just one word. You’ve just gotta be the one to say it, being the owner of the place and all.”

 

Angel’s brow creased slightly and he sighed. “Just seems…awfully easy.”

 

“It makes sense when you think about it.” Anya shrugged. “Think of the sanctuary spell like a lock…and the word is the key. It’s a little bit more complicated to install the lock than it is to insert the key and turn it, you know?”

 

“If you say so,” Angel muttered, his nerves beginning to show in his terse tone. “So when the moment is right, I’ll break the sanctuary spell, Wes will draw her blood and complete the spell to break her bond over Spike…and then, the rest is up to you, Willow. Can you handle it?”

 

The little redhead swallowed hard, her face pale and her hands trembling in her lap. “I think so. I mean…yes,” she stammered. “I can do it.”

 

“We can’t have any mistakes.” Several of the group, including Willow, looked up, startled, at the sharp tone of Tara’s voice. “This plan depends on split-second timing, Will. We have to know, *now*, if there’s going to be any problem.”

 

As she finished speaking, Tara’s gaze unintentionally fell on Spike, and their eyes locked for a brief moment before he looked away – but it was long enough for Tara to see the helpless panic rising in his expression. She wanted to cross the room to his side, but was afraid that doing so might make things worse, only serving to draw more attention to Spike’s vulnerability, and the need for her he was trying so hard to overcome.

 

Besides…he has asked her to stay away.

 

And she would never force her affections on him…never….no matter how badly he seemed to need them.

 

“It’s a simple spell. It takes two seconds and words alone,” Willow shot back, resentment clear in her trembling voice as she glared defensively back at her former lover. “I can do it.”

 

“*Will* you?” Dawn demanded, one eyebrow raised in suspicion.

 

“Of course I will! What’s that supposed to mean?” Willow’s voice was incredulous, offended. “Buffy’s dangerous. I’ve seen that, okay? I want to help stop her.”

 

“Look, it doesn’t do any good to fight amongst ourselves,” Angel broke in, a note of authority to his voice. “We have to be together on this. Tara’s right; this plan *is* carefully timed down to the second. We just need to know…Willow, are you prepared to act when you’re supposed to? Prepared in *every* way?”

 

“Yes,” Willow declared without hesitation, sounding much more sure than she had sounded a few seconds before. “I’m ready. I’m prepared.”

 

“Good.” Angel glanced around the room at the others, his gaze finally coming to rest on Spike, as he tried to catch his childe’s gaze to offer some form of reassurance. “And from there we should be home free. At least…at least we’ll have her under control,” he amended with a little grimace. “We can take it from there, as far as finding out what’s wrong with her, if we can help her, all that.”

 

“Does Spike…I mean…do we…” Dawn hesitated, before finally asking in a slightly timid voice, “Does everybody have to be right here the whole time? I mean…wouldn’t it be safer if…”

 

“Everybody should be here,” Angel stated with an apologetic shrug. “If Buffy comes in and sees that you and Tara and Spike…or even just Spike, whatever…aren’t around, she’ll get suspicious. I mean, as long as the sanctuary spell’s in place, you’re safe, right? So…why would we need to hide you guys? I think it’s more natural if we’re all here. I want you and Spike especially to keep your distance from her, especially once I break the sanctuary spell; but it should only be a matter of a few seconds between then, and when we have her under control.”

 

Dawn nodded, her lips pressed together in a tight, unhappy line, but grudgingly accepting of Angel’s reasoning.

 

“Gunn, I’ll need you to be close once Wes strikes. She’ll naturally start fighting then. Those next thirty seconds or so, while Wes is finishing the spell, will be crucial,” Angel explained. “You and I will have to keep her busy, keep her contained, until Willow can do her spell.”

 

Gunn nodded his approval of that idea.

 

“What about me?” Xander spoke up uncertainly. “What do you want *me* to do?”

 

Angel cast him a suspicious glance as he muttered, “Just try to stay out of the way.”

 

Xander’s nervousness showed in his lack of response to Angel’s mildly antagonistic words. The boy just nodded his acceptance, as Angel drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

 

“Okay. Any questions?”

 

No one said a word; a heavy silence with the weight of impending disaster filled the room.

 

“Okay. Guess we’re ready,” Angel observed. “Time to make a phone call.”

 

He picked up the telephone behind the reception desk, as Willow rose and handed him a business card with the address and phone number of the hotel where Buffy was staying. He dialed the number and the handwritten extension of Buffy’s room, then waited quietly for a few moments.

 

“Hey, Buffy. It’s me…Yeah, I know…Um…Listen, we need to talk, okay?...Well, I know, that’s what you’ve said from the beginning…but Dawn and Tara and Spike, they’re all saying…I know…I know, Buffy…that’s why we need to talk this out. Just all of us sit down, no violence, no shouting, just talk this out and figure out what’s going on here. Okay?...Okay.”

 

Angel gave the others a thumbs-up sign, though his expression was grim. “Can you come here? Just for safety’s sake, Buffy…No, I trust you, it’s just…I’m not the only one whose feelings have to be considered here, Buffy. We can talk about all this when you get here…One hour? How does that sound?...Okay. See you then.”

 

Angel hung up the phone with a grim smile.

 

“It’s done. She’s on her way.”

 

******************************************

 

Buffy hung up the phone, a pleased smile on her face. Her cold eyes glittered with malicious anticipation.

 

Angel’s invitation was better than anything she could have hoped for.

 

She had planned to pay a visit to the Hyperion tonight anyway, but this was so much better. They were expecting her to be there; therefore, her arrival would not arouse any suspicions. They all still believed their precious sanctuary spell to be in place, protecting them from any harm at her hands, and therefore would be off their guard, expecting nothing to take place during the encounter beyond mere conversation.

 

Buffy glanced around at the circle in which she sat, cross-legged on the floor. Candles which had been burning minutes before were now dark, wisps of smoke rising from their extinguished wicks. Tracks of blood were dried on her arms where she had cut her own flesh for the ritual, but Buffy did not mind.

 

The spell to break the sanctuary spell had gone very well.

 

Her smile widened as she imagined the expression on Spike’s face when she walked through that door, and showed him just how powerless she was *not*…not anymore.

 

*See you soon, Baby,* she thought with a wicked smirk. *Boy, are *you* in for a surprise!*


	67. Chapter 67

The tension, already nearly palpable at the time of Angel’s meeting, continued to mount as the assembled group awaited Buffy’s arrival. Those who were to play the most vital parts in the plan took their positions, while trying to appear as casual as possible lest Buffy should be suspicious when she arrived.

 

Willow had performed a small glamour to hide the ritual circle Wesley had formed behind the reception desk, in which to perform the unbinding spell, and the former Watcher leaned casually against the back side of the desk, trying to look as idle and nonchalant as possible.

 

Willow was anxiously fidgeting in a far corner of the room, where she hoped not to be noticed by the Slayer until the time came for her to perform her own spell. With every moment that passed, however, her nerves seemed to increase, and she became more and more jittery and anxious…as did nearly all of them, to some degree or another.

 

It took every ounce of effort Spike had to keep from collapsing into a total nervous wreck.

 

He paced the floor anxiously near the base of the stairs, running a trembling hand through his hair as he glanced over and over again toward the closed door through which his abuser would walk any moment. His throat was dry, and his entire body was shaking with terror he was struggling to suppress.

 

A light touch on his arm had him whirling around, biting back the startled cry that rose in his throat as his hands came up defensively in front of him.

 

It was Tara.

 

He froze, not sure how to react given the current strained state of their relationship, not sure how she would *want* him to react. The softness in her eyes, her touch, nearly broke the last shred of his resolve, and he felt his own eyes welling with tears. Before he could fall apart right there in plain view of everyone, Tara led him aside, into the semi-privacy of the alcove to the side of the stairs.

 

Spike suppressed his impulse to reach out to her, to fall into the familiar comfort of her arms, unsure of what she wanted, what was allowed at this point. Tara’s hands ran gently up and down his cool arms, her eyes glancing downward briefly before rising to meet his gaze with an affectionate, concerned expression. Her hand rose from his arm in a halting gesture as if to put her arm around him, but she held back, awaiting permission.

 

“Spike,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “Can I…is it okay if I…”

 

“Oh, God, Tara.” Spike’s voice was trembling with grateful relief as he understood what it was she was asking and fell forward, his head resting on her shoulder and his arms reaching out to embrace her. “Please…please…”

 

“Shhh.” Tara raised a hand to cup the back of his head, holding him close as she whispered in his ear. “It’s gonna be fine, Sweetheart. It’s gonna be fine. You can do this. She can’t touch you, Spike, not until Angel takes the sanctuary spell down, and then it will only be for a matter of seconds…”

 

“That’s all it’ll take,” Spike pointed out dubiously.

 

“You can’t think like that,” Tara gently reproved him, pulling back to meet his eyes with a worried frown. “You have to be strong…to face her. As much as I want to…I can’t do this for you.”

 

Spike stared at her for a long moment, swallowing hard, before he reluctantly withdrew from her arms, nodding his silent assent to her words.

 

“I just…want you to know,” Tara explained softly, raising a tender hand to his cheek, drawing his gaze back up to hers. “I’m here, Spike. If you need me…if she tries anything…I’m right here, backing you up. Okay?”

 

Spike looked away, unable to hold her gaze for long, feeling ashamed and unworthy of her affections because of his fear and weakness.

 

*’S no wonder she’s been wanting to keep her distance.*

 

“All right,” he replied aloud, clearing his throat uncomfortably as he pulled abruptly away from her. “Got it, love.” He forced a brave smile as he edged back toward the lobby. “I’ll be fine, yeah? Don’t worry about me.”

 

Tara frowned, concerned by the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice. “Spike…”

 

But he had already slipped away, moving back toward the center of the room, away from Tara and the personal moment they had been sharing. She called to him again, but he ignored her, heading purposefully toward Angel, though they both knew his only purpose in that moment was to escape the discomfort of his own emotions.

 

Tara would have followed him, in spite of her resolve to give him the space he needed to stand on his own…would have, if the door of the hotel had not been slammed open in the next moment, banging against the wall as the Slayer made her dramatic entrance.

 

Everyone froze, all eyes focused on Buffy as she stood in the open doorway, her hands on her hips, surveying the room with a smug smile on her lips. After a moment, she stepped inside, swinging the door shut again behind her.

 

“Well,” she remarked, meeting the guarded eyes of Angel, Dawn, and Tara, before finally settling her cold gaze on Spike’s wide-eyed, fearful face. “Looks like the gang’s all here.”

 

“Buffy.” Angel acknowledged her with a nod, stepping forward and clearing his throat in an attempt to draw her attention to himself, away from Spike. “Thanks for coming. We need to talk.”

 

Buffy kept her gaze focused on Spike, taking a few slow steps into the room, closer to the blond vampire. “We’ll get to that.”

 

Spike moved hastily backward as she advanced, until his back hit the reception desk behind him. He grimaced as much at his own instinctive display of fear as at the impact, bracing himself as Buffy swept gracefully past Angel and toward him.

 

“Wait a second, Buffy,” Angel ordered sharply, moving as if to get between them, alarm in his eyes.

 

“Relax, Angel, I can’t hurt him,” Buffy sneered as she stopped a bare foot in front of Spike. Without looking away from Spike she added, “And you can’t touch me, either, so just calm down and give me a minute, okay?”

 

Angel stopped reluctantly behind her, frowning as he remembered that she was right. He couldn’t so much as pull her away from Spike, with the sanctuary spell in place, though at least that also meant that Spike was physically safe from the Slayer’s rage.

 

Of course, Spike’s physical safety was not the only thing Angel was worried about.

 

Buffy sidled in closer to Spike, though still not quite touching him, and he leaned back slightly across the counter, his knuckles white and clenched on the edge of the desk as he struggled to control his trembling. The sanctuary spell seemed far away and insignificant at the moment. He turned panicked eyes on Tara near the foot of the stairs, and saw the flash of concern and sympathy in her eyes before she looked away, her jaw set with her determination to allow him to face this alone.

 

He had never felt so abandoned, so betrayed, in his entire existence.

 

“Missed you.” Buffy’s voice was low, inaudible to anyone but Spike, as she rested her hands on the desk, brushing the polished wood less than an inch from his own hands. “You know that? Can’t wait to take you home with me, Spike.” There was a subtle cruelty in her voice, and her eyes glittered with malice as she met his stunned gaze.

 

“Th-that’s never going to happen,” he insisted, though his voice was a trembling whisper, and his eyes were wide with stark terror. “Y-you can’t d-do that.”

 

Buffy’s smile widened, and she leaned in closer, her warm breath brushing his ear as she whispered, “Watch me.”

 

Spike closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly in denial of the cold fist of terror that clenched around his heart with her words, though he could not form words to deny them. All he could think to do was to reassure himself in his panicked thoughts, again and again.

 

*She can’t touch me…she can’t touch me…she can’t touch me…*

 

*********************************

 

It was all Tara could do not to cross the room in two strides and knock the Slayer away from her vampire…not that that was actually physically an option at the moment anyway. Still, it was torment for her to stand by and watch while Buffy terrorized Spike without so much as touching him, inflicting as much psychological torment as she ever had; but Tara knew that if Spike did not stand up for himself *now*, while Buffy couldn’t touch him, he wouldn’t stand a chance once the sanctuary spell came down.

 

And that was not their only problem at the moment, either.

 

Just a few short feet away from the counter where Buffy and Spike stood, the ritual circle was waiting for Wesley to get his chance to break the bond. However, until Buffy moved away from the counter, he couldn’t make a move at all without drawing her attention to what he was doing.

 

“Buffy,” Willow spoke up from across the room, swallowing nervously as the Slayer straightened and half-turned toward her with a single raised brow. “Let’s just…all sit down and talk about this, okay? Why don’t you just…leave Spike alone for now. We’ll figure this out.”

 

Tara felt a momentary rush of affection for her former lover as she realized that Willow had obviously been thinking along the same lines she had, and was deliberately trying to draw Buffy away from the counter.

 

Tara only hoped it was not as obvious to Buffy as it was to her.

 

“In a minute,” Buffy snapped without shifting her gaze, and Spike visibly flinched at the dark sound of menace in her voice.

 

“Buffy, back off,” Angel insisted impatiently, moving in beside her. “You think you’re convincing us that you’re okay, with this psychotic little display?”

 

Buffy was quiet for a moment, not backing off at all, still smiling coldly at the trembling vampire in front of her. When she spoke, her words were soft and chilling.

 

“Who says I’m still trying to convince you of anything?”

 

Alarms went off in Tara’s head, and her eyes went wide with fear as Buffy suddenly grabbed Spike by the throat, slamming him down hard on his back across the counter. He was thoroughly disoriented by the unexpected blow, as she yanked him up by the collar of his shirt, one arm locking around his throat as she turned her back to the counter, facing the room with Spike in front of her like a shield.

 

A collective gasp seemed to fill the room as the others gradually registered what was already painfully obvious to Spike.

 

The sanctuary spell had been broken.

 

“I’m through playing around,” Buffy snarled as she withdrew a stake from the pocket of her jeans and pushed it painfully against Spike’s chest before anyone could even think to move. “I’m not gonna play your stupid little games. I’m taking what’s mine, and anybody who tries to stop me is going to die. Is that simple enough for you?”

 

Spike’s hands gripped weakly at Buffy’s arm around his throat, struggling to draw breath that he had forgotten he didn’t need; but she was too strong, and he could not break her grip. Frozen with terror, he could do nothing as she held him hostage, doing exactly what he had feared – exploiting his weakness and using it against the others.

 

Angel stared at her in horror, shaking his head slightly, confused. “But…I didn’t. *How*…?”

 

Tara shared his bewilderment and dismay. Angel had not spoken the words to break the sanctuary spell, but it was quite obviously broken.

 

*Which means *she’s* vulnerable, too…*

 

Tara took a slight step forward, one hand extended as she prepared to cast a spell.

 

Unfortunately, Buffy caught the motion out of the corner of her eye and turned sharply in Tara’s direction, pressing the stake harder against Spike’s chest so that he winced in pain and bit back a cry as the tip pierced his skin, drawing blood.

 

“Try it, witch, and he’s dust,” the Slayer snarled…and Tara froze.

 

An instant later, she was grateful that she had. The impulse to protect Spike had almost caused her to do something which would have ruined the bond-breaking ritual completely. The ritual could not be performed in the presence of any other magicks of any kind.

 

Tara scanned the room for Wesley, and realized with a sense of cautious relief that he was out of sight…which meant that he was most likely on the floor behind the partial shelter of the desk, performing the ritual as quietly as possible. Her mind raced as she tried to think of a way to save Spike, as well as to salvage the situation.

 

*If we can get Spike away from her…and keep her busy for just a few seconds…*

 

“Dawnie.” Buffy’s sharp voice drew Tara’s attention away from her thoughts in alarm, and she looked across the room at the frightened teenager who was looking fearfully toward her sister. Buffy’s false, cold smile did not falter as she ordered, “Get over here, Sweetie.”

 

“No,” Spike spoke up at last, his voice hoarse and trembling but angry and determined. “No, Buffy, leave her out of this! You know it’s me you want…”

 

Buffy removed the stake from his chest briefly, instead jamming its blunt end painfully into the small of his back before returning it to its life-threatening position. Spike gasped with pain, his knees buckling as she leaned in close to speak quietly next to his ear.

 

“Did I say you could talk, Baby?”

 

As the stake dug again into his already damaged chest, Spike shook his head in instinctive obedience. “Please,” he gasped out. “Buffy…please…don’t…don’t hurt her…”

 

Jealous and angered by Spike’s continued concern for her sister, Buffy snapped, “Shut up,” shaking him slightly with the arm wrapped around him, the hand of which was clutching the stake. As she spoke, her other hand trailed slowly down his side, around his hip and inward toward the mark on his thigh.

 

Which was still as effective as ever, unfortunately.

 

Tara glanced anxiously toward the desk, but from where she stood could see no signs of Wesley or whatever progress he might be making behind it. Buffy was standing with her back to the desk, and seemed utterly unaware of what the former Watcher was doing.

 

“No!” Spike cried out as Buffy’s fingers brushed the sensitive flesh through his jeans, jerking away from her touch in panic.

 

Buffy yanked him back into place, harsh fingers digging into the tender spot she had carved in his flesh, as she whispered in his ear, “You’re still mine, Spike. I told you that wasn’t going to change. I told you what would happen, too, if you defied me…”

 

“No,” Spike repeated, his voice a pleading whimper, tears streaking his face. “Buffy, no…”

 

Her voice low so that no one else could hear, Buffy went on as if he had not spoken. “I’m going to kill them, Spike. I’m going to kill every last one of them while you watch. And *then*…I’m going to deal with you.” Pressing against the mark, she commanded in a louder voice, using the authority of the bond, “Now sit down, and shut up. Do *not* move until I tell you to.”

 

With those words, she released Spike, flinging him to the floor against the front of the desk with jarring force, before turning to face the room in an attack stance. To his dismay, Spike found that he physically could not move from the spot, bound there by his claimant’s command.

 

Buffy shifted to the side, now half-facing the desk as she scanned the room, clearly trying to gauge who posed the greatest threat to her. Though it was obvious from the confident smirk on her face, she did not consider any of them a match for her. She truly believed that she was more than powerful enough to take them all on, and win.

 

And it was possible that she was, Tara admitted ruefully in her mind. She glanced once more toward the desk, and the watcher behind it that was just out of her sight.

 

Unfortunately, Buffy was no longer at such an angle of disadvantage.

 

Tara’s heart leapt up into her throat as she saw Buffy freeze, her eyes narrowed as she looked at something behind the desk, just outside Tara’s line of vision. The blonde witch moved cautiously to the side, until she could see Wesley sitting in the center of the circle, hurriedly chanting in an almost silent whisper.

 

A slow smile spread across Buffy’s face, chilling in its dark malice.

 

“Wesley,” she said in a disarmingly soft voice. “Long time no see.”

 

Wesley winced slightly when he realized that she had seen him, but did not so much as look at her, just seemed to hurry his pace as he chanted the words to the spell and scattered the herbs in his hand around the circle.

 

“Looks like you’re busy,” the Slayer remarked as she moved around the side of the desk, warily watching the others who were cautiously watching for their openings to try to stop her. She paused, her smile fading into cold deadly rage as she concluded, “Also looks like you’re *first*.”


	68. Chapter 68

“Just what is that little magic trick you’re getting ready there, Wes?” Buffy’s voice was softly mocking as she slowly closed the distance between herself and the magical circle where Wesley was performing the spell. “What’s it supposed to do, anyway?”

 

Wesley dutifully ignored her, continuing with the spell at as quick a pace as he could manage, though Tara could see from across the room that his hands were becoming increasingly unsteady as the Slayer drew closer to him. Of course, with all that malice and deadly rage focused for the moment on him, Tara could not say that she blamed him – not in the least.

 

In fact, the former Watcher who had once been too terrified to stand under even the mere threat of torture, whose only experience with facing any real evil had been under “controlled circumstances”, was standing up remarkably well under the Slayer’s attempts at intimidation, just going on with his spell as if she wasn’t standing a few short yards away from him and threatening his life.

 

Apparently, the Slayer found it less impressive, and more annoying.

 

Buffy’s eyes narrowed in anger as she moved in on Wesley, momentarily turning her back on the rest of the room.

 

That moment was all Wes had…and Angel seized upon it.

 

The dark vampire lunged for the Slayer, grabbing her hair and yanking her backward, throwing her a few yards away from the circle before moving swiftly in between her and Wesley, his hands drawn up in a wary fighting stance as Buffy stumbled to regain her footing. She stared up at him in disbelief, which gradually faded to incredulous amusement as she smiled slowly.

 

“Angel,” she said softly, shaking her head in a patronizing gesture of sympathy. “Honey. You *really* don’t wanna get in my way.”

 

“Sorry, Buffy,” Angel replied, his expression solemn and determined as he steadied himself for her inevitable attack. “Haven’t got a choice.”

 

“No, you really don’t,” Buffy agreed, her expression hardening with angry menace, though her voice was still soft and sympathetic. “Not anymore.”

 

With that she flew at him, striking him across the face with her fist; but Angel knew what was at stake, knew that he could not afford to let her get between him and Wesley, and he took the blow, immediately returning one of his own that sent her once more stumbling back. As she came at him again, Angel heard Wesley’s voice behind him, trembling, but louder, as he hurriedly chanted the remaining words of the spell; and the vampire desperately hoped that he was near the end of the spell.

 

As experienced a fighter as Angel was, Buffy was much stronger than him, and her next blow knocked him off balance. He stumbled and fell to his hands and knees as Buffy tried to slip past him to get to Wesley, but at the last moment caught her ankle, yanking her off her feet, onto her face on the floor, and falling upon her, his vampiric face at the fore.

 

Buffy turned beneath him, her bright emerald eyes gleaming with rage as she punched him in the face several times. However, her position beneath him decreased her leverage, and the blows did not have the same impact they might have had they both been standing. Angel struggled to hold her down as she gripped his arms and fought to push him off…and gradually, her superior strength began to prevail.

 

Gunn, the only other member of the group who was much of a fighter at all, rushed to his friend’s aid, grabbing the Slayer’s arms and pinning them down as Angel fought to re-establish his slipping hold on Buffy. If anything, she seemed more irritated by his attempt than anything else. She caught Gunn’s arm, locking it with her own and jerking it backward hard.

 

Gunn let out a cry of pain as the sickening sound of his arm being dislocated echoed through the lobby. He rose, backing away, clutching his injured arm in his hand, moaning in agony.

 

Tara wanted to help, but knew that her only asset in a fight was her magic, and she could not use it until Wesley had finished with his own ritual. As Angel continued to battle the Slayer for dominance, Tara’s apprehensive eyes sought out Spike with concern.

 

The younger vampire was seated against the front of the desk, as his claimant had ordered, his arms crossed over his chest, shaking violently. Tara glanced anxiously toward Buffy, noting that her attention was fully absorbed by Angel at the moment, before darting past the fight, across the room to Spike’s side. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close to her.

 

“Hey, Sweetie,” she murmured. “How you holding up?”

 

Much to her surprise and dismay, Spike jerked away from her, looking up at her with an expression of such hurt and betrayal in his eyes that it stole her breath and made her chest ache.

 

“D-don’t,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Don’t touch me.”

 

“Spike…I didn’t know,” Tara insisted, tears welling in her eyes. “Please, Sweetie…I had no idea the sanctuary spell was down, or I’d never have…”

 

Her voice trailed off as Spike shook his head, his arms wrapped defensively around his knees. “I needed you, Tara…I needed you, and…You said…you told me she couldn’t…” His words broke off abruptly and he turned his head away as his shoulders shook with the silent sobs he was struggling to suppress.

 

Tara’s tears streaked her face as she reached out a pleading hand to touch his arm, insisting in a tremulous whisper, “Spike, I’m *so sorry*…I didn’t know…”

 

Spike did not pull away this time, but she felt his arm tense under his touch, knew that at the moment, it was unwelcome; so she withdrew her hand, swallowing back her hurt as she nevertheless settled down beside him. She slipped off her knees onto the sides of her legs, just sitting beside him without touching him.

 

After a long moment, Spike looked up at her, clearly surprised that she was still there. The question was clear in his eyes as he raised them reluctantly to hers.

 

“I’m not gonna let you down again, Spike,” she stated softly by way of explanation. “I’m not gonna let her get her hands on you…not unless she goes through me first. I…I don’t really have a major part in this plan, so…so my place is right here.”

 

Spike just stared at her for a moment without a word before turning his head away again, his eyes lowered to the floor. They just sat there together in a painfully awkward silence, as Tara looked past Spike with anxious eyes, back to the fight that was still taking place between Angel and the Slayer.

 

Angel was about to lose.

 

Buffy had managed to reverse their positions, and was now pinning the vampire down to the floor, her stake a bare inch from his chest and slowly edging nearer. Its progress was impeded by his clenched fists around her wrist, struggling to push the stake back…but it was not impeded enough.

 

Buffy was moments away from killing him.

 

Wesley’s voice suddenly rose in excitement and fear on the last few words of the spell, and a blinding flash of light filled the room for an instant before vanishing just as swiftly as it had appeared. Tara’s eyes went wide as Spike gasped, his hand moving instinctively to the mark on his thigh. Tara looked worriedly down at the spot, afraid that he was hurt, though he did not really seem to be in any pain, and she drew in a soft breath as she saw that even through the thick fabric of Spike’s jeans, the spot seemed to be…*glowing*.

 

They shared a wondering look before turning their eyes toward Buffy, confirming that the mark on her wrist was glowing as well, between Angel’s clenched fingers around the spot. Buffy let out a startled cry, the stake falling from her hand as her other hand rose to clutch at the spot in fear and bewilderment.

 

“What…what did you…?”

 

“Angel, now!” Wesley cried out urgently. “*Now*!”

 

Angel took advantage of Buffy’s confusion to reverse their positions once more, rolling them both into the circle as he did so, with one hand grasping the stake she had dropped on his chest. Buffy turned her attention back on him when she realized that he was regaining the upper hand, but she was still distracted by the throbbing, glowing mark on her wrist.

 

“What are you *doing*?” she nearly screamed in hysterical rage. “What did you do to me, you…”

 

Her words broke off abruptly in a cry of pain and surprise as Angel raised the stake and plunged it down into her shoulder, dragging it downward a couple of inches in a deep, jagged cut. Sputtering and snarling with fury and fear, Buffy threw several random, poorly directed blows in his direction, but they were weakened by both her pain and her distraction, and this time, Angel managed to easily pin her down, holding her there as her blood flowed from the wound in her shoulder onto the floor within the circle.

 

Wesley hurriedly took a small vial of Spike’s blood, drawn beforehand for the ritual, and poured it onto the small pool of Buffy’s blood, swirling it with his fingers as he chanted the final few words of the spell in Latin.

 

Buffy let out a scream of pain as he completed the spell, and the brilliant glowing light on her wrist intensified. Across the room, the same thing had happened to Spike’s mark, and he gasped in pain, doubling over slightly as his hand clutched at the burning, throbbing spot. Tara instinctively put her arms around him again, wanting only to soothe his pain, and in that pain Spike did not push her away, clinging to her as he panted with the intense agony of the breaking of the bond.

 

Fortunately, it only lasted a few seconds, before both the glowing lights and the burning pain vanished away from both the Slayer and the vampire. Stillness filled the room for a few moments as everyone took in what had happened, before Buffy seemed to regain her senses, glaring up at Angel with blind hatred and rage.

 

“How dare you!” she snarled. “He’s *mine*! How dare you do this to me! I’ll *kill* you!”

 

She brought her knee up sharply into Angel’s groin, and he doubled over in pain with a groan as Buffy threw him off her, leaping to her feet and delivering a vicious kick to his side. He tried to rise, but each time he tried, she struck out at him again, not allowing him the time he needed to recover from each attack.

 

Tara glanced anxiously across the room toward Willow, wondering if the girl would be able to follow through with her part of the plan as she had promised. Much to her relief, Willow was chanting softly under her breath, her hands forming strange gestures as she looked toward her former friend with determination in her sorrowful green eyes.

 

*At least there’s no denying now how far Buffy’s gone,* Tara realized grimly. *Not for any of us. Not anymore.*

 

Spike pulled abruptly away from her, his eyes wide and breathing hard as he tried to process what had just happened. The sudden rejection of her supportive touch was hurtful to Tara, but she had greater concerns at the moment. She rose slowly to her feet as Spike did the same, trying to catch his wide-eyed, stunned gaze.

 

“You’re free, Spike,” she reminded him in an almost awed whisper. “You’re free. She can’t touch you anymore, Sweetheart. She doesn’t have any hold over you, not anymore. You can fight back now.”

 

Spike stared at her in wonder for a long moment, trying to make those words make sense in his head. Finally he whispered, his voice hushed and barely daring to believe, “I can…can fight her. She can’t…”

 

Suddenly, his gaze shifted abruptly to the confrontation between the Slayer and his sire. “I can fight her,” he repeated under his breath.

 

Tara realized all at once what he was thinking – and suddenly, the intense desire she had had for Spike to understand his ability to fight back against Buffy did not matter. All she felt was a terrible fear as she realized that he was considering joining this fight, going to Angel’s aid.

 

Was he ready?

 

Could he handle the pressure of her intimidation, or would he fold under its weight and lose it all to Buffy now, even after they had already come so far?

 

“Spike…wait…” she whispered, regretting the words immediately after she spoke them.

 

Spike looked at her sharply. “’S what you wanted, in’nit?” he asked, a trace of resentment in his voice, though his eyes were wide and terrified in spite of his new resolve. “Why wouldn’t you…?”

 

His words broke off, and the argument became moot for the moment, as Willow threw her hand out in the direction of the Slayer as she completed the spell she had been working, and suddenly, Buffy froze in place. Tara realized with alarm that the Slayer had her stake in her hand, and was bent over Angel, whose back was to the wall, one arm protectively across his chest.

 

Another moment or two, and Angel would have been dust.

 

Warily watching the blonde in front of him, Angel stumbled to his knees, then pulled himself up against the wall with an effort.

 

“It worked,” Willow announced in a triumphant but trembling voice. “It worked. She won’t be able to move for…well, until I take the spell down. She’s under control.”

 

Tara nearly collapsed with relief, her hands bracing against the desk as she struggled to catch the breath she had not realized she had been holding.

 

Spike stared at the still form of his tormentor, frozen and helpless and at last, incapable of hurting him…and finally, Spike *did* collapse, falling slowly to his knees on the floor, his arms wrapped around his torso as he gasped for breath, trying to keep repressing the sobs he’d been repressing already for the entire encounter.

 

When Tara tentatively touched him, he shook her hand away, huddling against the desk as his body was shaken by great, wracking sobs that took his breath and tore through him with a depth of mingled brokenness and relief that he could not have expressed in words.

 

In moments, Dawn was at his side, her arms wrapped around him…and it hurt more than Tara wanted to admit that Spike allowed her touch, where he had pushed Tara’s own away. Resigned to the fact that at the moment, he neither wanted nor needed her comfort, Tara walked away toward the others, to see what she could do to help.


	69. Chapter 69

“Hurry up. Let’s get her downstairs; I’m not sure how long that spell will hold.”

 

Angel turned wide eyes on Willow, aghast, as he stumbled after Wesley and Xander, who were carrying the still form of the Slayer between them, one on either side. Buffy’s eyes were blank and empty, her arms serenely down at her sides, her legs straight and still side by side.

 

Under the influence of Willow’s spell, it seemed…Buffy was pose-able.

 

“What do you mean you don’t know how long it’ll hold?” Angel demanded, a bit breathlessly as he struggled to recover from the numerous blows he had taken during his fight with the Slayer. His face was beginning to bruise, and as he spoke he raised a hand to wipe away the blood from his split lip. “I thought you said until you took it down, she was stuck like that!”

 

“Until I take it down…or until she fights her way through it,” Willow amended with an apologetic little grimace.

 

“I thought you were supposed to be some super-powerful witch.”

 

“Yeah, and she’s a Slayer,” Willow countered, more than a little defensively. “I wasn’t taking into account the fact that she’s a little more than human herself. I mean…a normal human couldn’t fight through that binding spell, no matter how hard they tried, but…but Buffy…” Willow shook her head as her eyes came to rest on her friend, just as the others maneuvered her carefully through the basement doorway. “I can feel her fighting it right now…trying to get free.”

 

Angel frowned, worry in his eyes. “Is she having any success?”

 

“Not yet,” Willow assured him, shaking her head. “Not even close. I mean…it would take her a while to get through it, but…but we’d better hurry and get her secured by non-magical means, before she does.”

 

Angel followed Willow’s troubled gaze grimly, remembering months past when he had been bound and caged himself in the basement of the Hyperion. “Not a problem.”

 

***********************************

 

“She’s all locked up in the basement,” Dawn announced as she entered the upstairs bedroom where she had left Spike just a few minutes earlier, seeking an update from the others on the physical status of her sister. “With like, iron chains and in this great big cage – and I don’t even wanna know why they have that stuff in the basement – but you know…she’s not going anywhere. Willow and Tara are doing a spell, to see if they can figure out what’s wrong with…”

 

Her voice trailed off weakly as she studied the weary, tear-streaked face of her best friend, who was sitting in a chair by the window, staring out through the open curtains into the inky midnight blackness. He did not turn, did not show any sign of comprehension as she spoke…but Dawn knew that he had heard and understood every word.

 

Cautiously she crossed the room to his side, reaching out a gentle hand to rest on his shoulder, and still he did not respond for a long moment. Finally, however, he reached a cool, trembling hand up to close around hers, drawing in a deep, shaky breath as his eyes remained fixed on the darkness outside the window.

 

“What am I going to do, Bit?” he asked in a hoarse, weary voice, squeezing her hand weakly before releasing it to run his unsteady fingers nervously through his hair.

 

“What…what do you mean?” Dawn asked, her words slow and cautious as she moved around to partially face him, kneeling in front of him and resting her crossed arms across his knees in a casual, familiar way that she had done many times before, in an effort to meet his averted gaze. “We’ve won, Spike. I mean, at least…whatever’s wrong with her, even if we can’t fix it…she can’t hurt you anymore.”

 

Spike looked away from the window at last, but his haunted eyes were focused on her arms rather than her face, as he shook his head, at a loss to put his dilemma into words. “I…I just…” He looked up, rolling his eyes at his own weakness as he blinked back tears, then finally met her gaze hopelessly.

 

“It’s too late,” he whispered. “The…the damage is done, yeah? Can’t just go back and say, ‘All right then, ‘s over now so let’s just pretend it didn’t bloody happen, now, can we?”

 

Dawn frowned. “Of course not, but…”

 

“I’ll never be what she needs.” Spike’s desolate words were so soft that Dawn almost didn’t hear them, but when she realized what he had said, she went very still, her eyes widening with shock, and her heart aching at the understanding of how thoroughly devastated her friend was by what her sister had done. “I can’t…can’t fix this, Bit. Can’t…be what Tara wants me to be.”

 

“Spike…it’s not about what she wants, for her. You know that, right? I mean…she just wants to help you,” Dawn argued awkwardly, still unclear as to what had happened between her two friends to cause their obvious rift. “She…she *loves* you.”

 

Tears slipped down the broken vampire’s cheeks as his eyes focused on his lap and he shook his head sadly. A single whispered word from his trembling lips broke Dawn’s heart for him afresh.

 

“*Why*?”

 

Dawn’s throat felt dry, her heart dropping down to somewhere around her stomach, before she managed to regain her composure enough to ask in a low voice, hoarse and trembling with her own repressed tears, “What is that supposed to mean? Why *wouldn’t* she love you, Spike?”

 

Spike opened his mouth to respond, though he seemed at a loss for words to express his shame, his sense of utter worthlessness.

 

But then again…no words were really necessary.

 

“Spike,” Dawn went on before he could speak, “Look at me. Listen to me, okay? Tara’s great, I know. She’s amazing.” She paused, drawing in a deep breath before continuing, “But she is damn lucky to *ever* have a guy like you!”

 

Spike looked up at her sharply, his eyes widening both at her mild curse word, unusual coming from Dawn’s lips, and the statement she made, which was even more bewildering to him.

 

Dawn faltered slightly, her gaze lowering nervously for a moment while she summoned every ounce of nerve she possessed, her heart pounding and her mind racing as she tried to decide whether or not to reveal feelings she had hidden away within her heart for years. She knew there was a good chance that confessing those feelings could alter her precious friendship with the vampire, but she also knew there was a good chance that Spike needed to hear them.

 

And in this moment, what Spike needed had to come before her own pride.

 

“You’re…you’re incredible, Spike.” Dawn went on with the halting, reluctant tone of a confession. “You’re…you’re like my hero, you know? I mean…I can’t even count how many times you’ve saved my life. You took torture for me. And…and that’s not even…I mean…okay, I’m stalling. That’s all just extra stuff. The reasons why you’re so incredible don’t even have anything to do with those things. You just…you just are, okay?”

 

Spike stared at her, a slight frown of confusion creasing his brow.

 

The expression did nothing to alleviate Dawn’s nerves.

 

“There’s no reason in the world why Tara wouldn’t love you,” she repeated, her eyes downcast once more. Hesitantly, she raised them to his, adding softly, “I…*I* love you. Just because of…of who you are, you know? The incredible person that you are. You’re just so…so brave, and smart, and cool, and just…just amazing, and…and I know I’m making a total loser of myself by telling you this and you’ll probably get all awkward and weird around me and stuff now, and…”

 

“Bit.” Spike’s whispering voice broke into her nervous rambling, and Dawn grimaced slightly as she looked up at him, clearly expecting a rebuff. “I…I’m honored, yeah? For you to feel that way. But…”

 

“I know.” Dawn’s voice was soft, certain and understanding as she gave him a sad smile. “I know that it’s not anything that could ever happen. I mean…you’ll never think of me as anything but your little Niblet, even when I’m like fifty. And…and that’s okay.” The look in her eyes told Spike that she really meant the words she was saying, despite the feelings for him she had just confessed.

 

“I…I *like* being your little Niblet.” Dawn’s voice was slightly shy as she went on, lowering her gaze once more. “And…and that’s really not the point, anyway. The point is…well…” When she looked up again, her smile had faded into a serious expression, as she continued in a slow, certain voice which left no room for argument.

 

“The point is…if you’d even look at me twice like that, well…there’s not much I wouldn’t do. And believe it or not, Tara feels the same way. And it’s because you *deserve* it, Spike…because you’re worth that much. Don’t you get that?”

 

Spike just stared at her blankly for a long moment, before shaking his head and whispering bleakly, “No.”

 

Dawn’s face fell with disappointment, and she was quiet for a moment before reminding him softly, “You used to.”

“That was…before. Before she…” Spike’s voice trailed off, and he looked away toward the window again, suddenly uncomfortable as he remembered that his abuser, the one who had so thoroughly broken him, was none other than this girl’s beloved older sister. “Anyway, I’m…I’m not the same man, Bit. Not anymore.” He was quiet before muttering under his breath, “’S no wonder she can’t stand to be near me.”

 

Dawn’s eyes widened as she began to put the pieces together, and realized to some degree what had happened between her friends. “That’s not true, Spike,” she argued gently, reaching up a hand to turn his face back toward her, though he refused to meet her eyes. “Tara loves you…”

 

“Tara pities me!” Spike retorted, an angry tremor in his voice, though it was not entirely clear with whom he was angry. “That’s all, Bit – nothing more.”

 

“That’s stupid!” Dawn declared hotly, rising to her feet in indignation. “Spike, if she’s been keeping her distance a little, it’s probably just to give you some space – to give you the chance to stand up for yourself, you know?”

 

Spike shook his head, his eyes lowered to the windowsill in despair. “That’s just it, in’nit? I can’t,” he insisted. “I just can’t…”

 

“And you never will again if you just keep hiding behind…”

 

Her words broke off abruptly at the sound of a cautious knock on the bedroom door. Both glanced toward it without speaking, uncertain as to whether or not they wanted to invite the person in and interrupt their conversation.

 

“It’s Tara,” the witch announced softly from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

 

Dawn gave Spike a pointed look before turning and stalking toward the door, opening it with a wide flourish to give Tara a broad, only slightly false smile. “Of course, Tara,” she replied. “Come on in. I was just leaving…”

 

“Dawnie, you don’t have to…”

 

But Dawn was already halfway down the stairs, leaving the witch and the vampire alone in a terribly awkward silence.

 

After a long moment, Tara hesitantly looked at Spike, a silent question in her eyes as she spoke softly. “Hey.”

 

“Hey,” Spike echoed flatly, not looking at her.

 

Tara studied the expression on his face as she cautiously approached him, stopping a few feet away from him to give him his distance. She was relieved to see that there did not appear to be any real injuries from the Slayer’s assault…at least on the outside.

 

Finally she asked, “Are you still mad at me?”

 

Spike closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out with a sigh before opening them again, focused once more on the windowsill. “I’m not mad at you, love…couldn’t be, all right? It’s not that, it’s just…you don’t have to pretend anymore, yeah? You can just…just say what you really mean, because I’ve already got it soddin’ figured out.”

 

Tara raised a single eyebrow, taking in his words. “You do?”

 

Spike nodded without looking at her, his mouth set in a grim line as he resolved not to let his emotions, his vulnerability, show through the mask of calm he was attempting to hold in place. “You need a bit of distance, love, I’ll understand. Haven’t got to make excuses and make like it’s for my own good. Just…just tell me if you don’t want me…hiding behind you anymore, Tara…”

 

As he spoke, Tara made her way slowly the rest of the distance between them, until she had reached him, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. At the unexpected tender touch of compassion, Spike’s voice broke, and his shoulders shook with the emotions he was struggling to hold back. He turned his head away, gasping back a sob as he struggled to keep from giving in to the weakness that he knew was driving her away from him.

 

Tara crouched behind him, bringing herself to eye level with him, as her hand on his shoulder gently pulled him around to face her. His eyes were downcast, but he reluctantly allowed himself to be moved.

 

“Hey,” Tara softly tried to get his attention, and he hesitantly looked up to meet her gaze with sparkling blue eyes, desperate and full of sorrow. “You’ve got it all wrong, Sweetheart.”

 

He just looked up at her expectantly, one hand rising to grasp hers on his shoulder, holding it tight as if afraid that she might bolt at any moment and leave him alone.

 

“I want to be behind *you*, Spike,” Tara whispered, showing no signs whatsoever of leaving as her free hand rose to tenderly brush a tear from his cheek. “Supporting you. Helping you. But…but not holding you back, never. Does that make sense?”

 

Spike nodded uncertainly, swallowing back a sob as Tara edged nearer, wrapping one arm around him and gently guiding his head onto her shoulder.

 

“I never meant for that to happen downstairs,” she assured him, her voice full of anguished regret. “I didn’t know she could hurt you. We guess she figured out a way to break the sanctuary spell, because Angel didn’t break it. I…I thought you were safe or I would never have…never have just left you to…” Tara’s voice broke, and she lowered her head, fighting back her own tears.

 

Spike raised his head, searching her tearful eyes with wonder in his own at the emotion she clearly felt…for *him*. “I…I don’t want to be in your way, love,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and humble.

 

“Never,” Tara assured him, shaking her head as her hand rose to run through his hair in a gesture of protective affection. She pulled back slightly, waiting until she had caught his gaze, locking onto it with her own, to go on, her voice quiet and intent and trembling with the weight of her emotion. “I *love* you, Spike. I *want* you with me. You could never be in my way.”

 

Simple words…but just the words Spike needed to hear, the refutation of the hurtful echoes that had filled his mind, the voices insisting that the opposite was true.

 

“I’m here for you, Spike,” Tara continued, unaware of the epiphany the vampire was experiencing. “I’m sorry about what happened. I didn’t mean to make you feel…abandoned, or rejected. I just want you to be able to be strong, but…but as long as you need me to help you do that…I’ll be here, Sweetheart. Okay? I promise…”

 

Whatever else Tara might have said was abruptly swallowed up in an intense kiss, full of gratitude and love and relief and passion, as Spike leaned forward toward her, grasping her arms and pulling her closer as his lips suddenly covered hers, thirstily drinking in the love she offered him, as if he could further convince himself with the gesture – as if he could taste the truth in her mouth.

 

And as Tara responded, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close to her, returning his kiss tenderly, intently…he could.

 

Tara loved him.

 

She loved him…and as long as he knew that, Spike knew that there was nothing he could not face.


	70. Chapter 70

Wesley was sitting in a folding chair beside the metal cage which had held Angelus a few months prior, jotting down notes in a black spiral notebook, and waiting for the chained Slayer to awaken from her magically induced stupor. Willow had said that as Buffy was mentally attempting to fight her way through the spell, it was best to just allow her to do so, now that she was restrained.

 

The more she managed to tire herself out before coming out of it, the better.

 

He was waiting for her to awaken, intent on questioning her to find out whether or not she had performed any magicks that might have had an effect on her current state. The most likely scenario was that the dark, drastic change in her was a direct result of Willow’s resurrection spell – but it was not the only possibility.

 

According to Spike’s account to Tara, Buffy had gradually changed over a period of months, becoming increasingly violent and dangerous. It was possible that she had hidden it well for all those months, but it was also possible that the change had been gradual. At this point, they had no way of knowing which option was the truth.

 

At any rate, speaking with the Slayer might be a good source of information toward figuring that out.

 

“Well, look at you.”

 

Despite the fact that he had been waiting for her to stir, Wesley still jumped at the sudden sound of her deceptively soft voice, echoing in the dark, mostly empty room. He turned startled eyes on the Slayer, who was smiling at him in a cool, calm, and most unsettling way.

 

“You’ve come a long way since Sunnydale, haven’t you, Wes?” The Slayer’s voice was mild, conversational, yet tinged with a subtlely scathing mockery that made him feel self-conscious and insecure in a way he had not felt in years. “All growed up, huh?”

 

“Seems we’ve all changed of late, haven’t we, Buffy?” he reminded her after taking a moment to regain his composure. “Some of us not for the better.”

 

The Slayer let out a quiet scoffing sound, rolling her eyes, as she shot back, “All depends on your perspective, doesn’t it?”

 

“How do you mean?” Wesley kept his voice mild, one eyebrow raised as he addressed her. “I fail to see how you can possibly consider your own recent personal changes in a *positive* manner.”

 

“Well,” Buffy drawled with a smirk, “I can see you’re at least still British.”

 

“Why would you behave in this way, Buffy?” Wesley persisted, ignoring her rather weak barb as he rose from his seat and edged nearer to the cage. He felt reasonably safe, as thick iron chains held her wrists behind her back, and shackled her ankles together. She could stand, and even walk a little, but her deadly fists and feet were no longer a threat at the moment. “You gave your very life to save your sister not even a year ago – and just days ago we all heard you on record threatening her life.”

 

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed flatly. “I gave my life to save her…to save the world. More than once, actually. I’d say I’ve fulfilled my duty and then some, wouldn’t you? I’d say I’ve earned the right to any pleasure I can manage to get my hands on.”

 

Disturbed by her careless, calloused words, Wesley frowned. “That’s not how it works, Buffy.”

 

“We’ll see about that.”

 

The cold, deadly tone of the Slayer’s voice chilled the former Watcher’s blood, no less than her narrowed emerald eyes, glittering with malice as she rose from the wooden bench and ambled slowly toward the bars of the cage.

 

“You can’t keep me in here forever, Wes,” she informed him with a menacing smile. “And you can’t kill me. But sooner or later…I’m going to kill *you*. I’m going to kill anyone who stands between me and what’s mine.”

 

“Spike,” Wesley guessed, his expression grim and troubled.

 

“He’s mine,” Buffy snarled, all semblance of her friendly manner vanishing as she lunged forward into the bars, her head lowered, her face twisted into a mask of possessive fury. “I don’t care what you do, you can’t take him from me! He belongs to *me*…and he always will. It doesn’t matter how you try to stop me…to contain me. I *will* get out of here, and I will tear through every last person between me and Spike until I get my hands on him again, and then -- *then* I’m gonna have some fun.”

 

Wesley stared at her, struck speechless by the malicious pleasure in her voice, having no response for her ruthless words.

 

“I miss him, you know – my little toy,” Buffy sneered, glancing deliberately upward toward the camera. Wesley had not realized that she knew it was there. “I’ve missed the things I used to do to him…the way he used to suffer for me…the way he used to want it so bad…even when he didn’t want to want it. You wanna hear about the things I used to do to him, Wes? The things I’m gonna do to him again?”

 

**************************************

 

“Turn it off.”

 

Without hesitation, Dawn responded to Spike’s trembling but emphatic words, rising from her seat in front of the monitor in the lobby and quickly switching it off, shutting out her sister’s twisted, delusional rantings, before returning to Spike’s side, her own eyes troubled and sorrowful.

 

The vampire’s gaze was downcast, though his expression was remarkably calm, his hand clasped tightly in Tara’s on her lap. The blonde witch’s arm rested supportively around his shoulders, and her head was facing down as well, turned toward his in silent invitation, should he feel the need to share the troubled thoughts that clearly filled his distracted mind.

 

“You okay?” she asked after a long, silent moment had passed.

 

Her voice was soft, intimate, its very tone closing out the others around them, giving him the feeling that they were alone in the room, though in truth they were far from it. Dawn sat on Spike’s other side, and almost the whole of the rest of the group was gathered there as well, still watching the now-empty screen with varying degrees of shock, outrage, and pain.

 

Spike nodded silently, and although the image and voice of the Slayer had clearly affected him, it appeared that he meant it.

 

“She’s wrong, you know,” Tara reminded him softly, raising her hand to trail through his hair tenderly. “You’re *not* hers. You never will be again.”

 

“I know,” Spike whispered, closing his eyes for a moment, nodding as he swallowed hard. “I know.”

 

“She’s never going to touch you again, Spike.”

 

“I know. Tara, love, I…I don’t want her to hurt you…” Spike confessed softly, his head resting on her shoulder, clutching her close to him.

 

“Shh,” Tara soothed him, running a comforting hand up and down his back. “She won’t. She’s not going to hurt anybody, sweetheart.”

 

“What does he expect to find out down there, anyway?” Xander muttered in irritation from behind them, pacing the floor in helpless frustration. “What good is talking to her going to do? She’s obviously not herself!”

 

“We don’t know *what’s* wrong with her, Xan,” Willow reminded him in a soft, hesitant voice. “Any little thing he might be able to…to find out…might be helpful.”

 

“I don’t know why we’re wasting time at all,” Anya spoke up, frankly as always. “I mean…I think we all know what made her go bad.” When several pairs of eyes turned toward her, but no one spoke, the ex-demon clarified flatly, “Your spell, Willow. The resurrection spell. She came back…but she didn’t come back the same.”

 

“It might not be that,” Willow insisted defensively, her eyes wide and guilty as they came to rest on Anya in a troubled expression. “It could be something else.”

 

“Whatever it is, I’d say it’s a great deal more serious than I thought.”

 

All eyes turned toward Wesley as he wearily entered the room, crossing to the reception desk and casting down his clipboard with a disgusted thrust, as if the very words he had recorded were so repulsive to him that he didn’t want to touch them.

 

Wesley glanced around at Fred, Anya, and Tara in turn, his expression solemn and troubled. “I dare say Buffy in her current state is no less frightening than Angelus at his worst. I might even *prefer* the company of Angelus. Whatever is wrong with her…I’m afraid if we don’t find a way to remedy it soon, it may be too late.”

 

“Could she have lost her soul?” Fred guessed from where she stood quietly behind the registration desk. When the others looked in her direction, she glanced downward, suddenly awkward, before meeting their eyes again and explaining, “I mean…when Angel lost his soul, he became a monster. Maybe it’s the same way for Slayers – gosh, for *anyone* -- if they lose their soul.”

 

“That’s impossible,” Willow hurried to reply, shaking her head emphatically. “The spell couldn’t have made her…”

 

“No, actually, that’s a really good thought,” Tara spoke up with interest, gently disentangling herself from Spike and rising, turning to face her former lover. Her gaze was searching, intent, as she waited for Willow to meet her eyes before adding, “And I thought you said it wasn’t the spell that caused the change, anyway.”

 

“Ooh, I know something!” Anya’s voice was excited as she hurried around behind the counter, and Fred stepped back out of her way as she began to page through a particular book with deliberate purpose. “I saw something…a little while ago… Ah, here it is! ‘The Soul Searcher’.”

 

“What?” Dawn frowned, getting up as well and moving to lean on the back of the chair in which she had been sitting. “What’s that?”

 

“It’s a ritual to analyze somebody’s soul…their essence…and see whether it’s normal or not,” Anya explained. “It should show us whether or not Buffy still has her soul, and if she does, whether or not it’s still normal.”

 

“And if we can find out what’s wrong with her, then maybe we can fix her!” Dawn’s voice sounded painfully young and hopeful in that moment, desperate to find a way to save her sister from the monster she had become.

 

“It’s the best suggestion I’ve heard so far,” Tara declared. “Let’s do it.” She spun around with an excited smile on her face, eager to gauge Spike’s reaction to this probable progress, but her smile faded in an instant when she saw that his seat was empty.

 

“Guys?” she asked in an anxious, uncertain tone of voice. “Where’s Spike?”

 

************************************

 

“Well, isn’t *this* a surprise. Gotta say, didn’t expect to see you down here, Baby.”

 

Spike hesitated near the middle of the staircase, swallowing hard to dampen his dry throat, struggling against the impulse he felt to flee up the stairs, back to the relative safety and warmth of the lobby, where he could at least take comfort in the presence of the others – specifically Tara.

 

*No,* he told himself sternly. *Can’t run from this…gotta talk to her…gotta tell her…*

 

When Buffy rose to her feet, edging nearer to the bars of the cage, her chains clanking together as she moved, Spike froze, fighting off a sense of panic as he reminded himself that she was chained and caged and unable to touch him. Her blood bond over him had been broken, and she was the one who was powerless now…not him.

 

*So why doesn’t it feel that way?*

 

“What’s up, Baby?” Buffy persisted, leaning her head against one of the bars, smiling up at him flirtatiously. “Just couldn’t stay away?”

 

“You know I…I don’t want to be here,” Spike finally brought himself to speak, his voice low and trembling, as he edged forward on shaking legs, forcing himself to descend the rest of the stairs, though he could only make himself go as far as the empty chair where Wesley had sat.

 

“Sure you don’t,” Buffy replied in a silken voice of subtle menace, a disarming smile on her pretty lips. “Just like you didn’t want me to tie you down and screw you into the floor like the little slut you are…did you, Baby?”

 

“Stop it,” Spike whispered, closing his eyes as his mind was filled with nightmare images of the torments she had taken such pleasure in inflicting on his body and spirit.

 

“You know, you can say whatever you want,” Buffy went on, ignoring his desperate words. “You can deny it…but your body doesn’t lie, Spike…and I knew what you wanted. I always have…because you’ve always wanted the same thing, haven’t you?” She paused for impact, allowing her words to sink in, before adding softly, “Me.”

 

“No,” Spike objected tremulously, emphatically shaking his head. “No, I…I don’t. Not anymore, Buffy. H-haven’t for a…for a bloody long time…”

 

“Face it, Spike,” Buffy cut his objections off, and the subtle note of steel to her voice, demanding his attention, silenced him as it always had. “Once you’ve had me, you’re never gonna want anyone else. I’ve ruined you for other women for good.”

 

Spike suppressed a shudder, pressing forward another step or two as he opened his mouth to soldier on and say what he had come here to say. “I…I just came here, Buffy, to…to tell you…”

 

“I have, haven’t I?” Buffy cut him off again, her utter disregard for his attempts to speak another subtle degradation on top of hundreds of previous ones. “Ruined you. I bet you can’t even get it up anymore, can you?” The Slayer’s voice was still quiet, almost gentle, but became vicious as she continued, “You pathetic little piece of trash. You’ve only ever been good for one thing, Spike…and now you can’t even do that…can you?”

 

“Th-that’s not true,” Spike insisted, his voice shaking violently, his eyes downcast with shame and welling with tears of humiliation. “Of… of course I…”

 

“Tara’s gonna figure it out, you know,” Buffy sneered triumphantly. “You haven’t slept with her…can’t let her go that far, can you, Baby? Sooner or later she’s gonna realize that every time she touches you…every time she kisses you…you’re feeling me. You see me…every time you close your eyes.”

 

Spike shook his head. “No,” he whispered brokenly. “No…” Unconsciously he took a stumbling step backward.

 

“How long do you think this is gonna last between you two, Spike? How long do you think it’ll take her to realize that you can never give her what she needs? You’ll never be any good for anyone again, Spike…anyone but me…”

 

His panic and shame closing in on him in a claustrophobic sensation, his chest constricted until he could not draw breath, Spike backed toward the stairs, stumbling into them and gripping the banister for support, no longer able to bring himself to meet her eyes.

 

“I…I just came down here…t-to tell you…stay away from them. Th-they don’t have anything to do with this, Buffy,” he barely managed to stammer out the words that had sounded so much stronger in his mind, before he had descended into this hell that, even imprisoned, she still somehow managed to rule. “D-don’t hurt them. This is about…m-me and you. Leave them alone.”

 

“Yeah, Baby. I know. You and me,” Buffy echoed with a smirk, her silken voice an unwelcome and unsettlingly intimate caress. “Always has been…always will be.”

 

As Spike turned and fled blindly up the stairs, her promise of menace and possession followed him, echoing painfully in his mind.


	71. Chapter 71

Spike’s head was spinning, filled with a numb, heavy sensation as he staggered through the doorway at the top of the stairs, clinging to the doorjamb and gasping for breath, as if he had narrowly escaped suffocation in the cloistered confines of the basement room.

 

In a way, he felt as if he had.

 

“Spike!” Tara cried out in relief, crossing the room to him in an instant and throwing her arms around him, steadying him. “Spike, what were you thinking? Why were you…?” Her voice trailed off as she took in his pale, shaken demeanor, and her eyes went wide with concern. “Spike?”

 

“C-can we…can we go…upstairs?” he whispered, meeting her eyes for just a moment before averting his gaze, clearly uncomfortable.

 

It was long enough for Tara to see the blind panic, the terror in his eyes.

 

“She got to you, didn’t she?” She raised a gentle hand to cup his cheek, grimacing when Spike flinched. “Oh, Spike…”

 

“Please,” he pressed her in a hushed, trembling voice. “Please can we just…can we…”

 

“Okay,” she agreed, one arm around his waist to support him as they turned away from the concerned, inquisitive eyes of the rest of the group, who were all trying to watch without obviously staring. Tara led Spike carefully up the stairs, toward the privacy of their bedroom.

 

Once the pair had disappeared up the stairs, Angel was the first to move, to show any reaction. Without a word he headed for the reception desk, opening a cabinet behind it and taking out a large rifle. Buffy’s friends reacted with stunned gasps and cries of protest, while Angel’s crew simply accepted it with grim understanding as Angel stalked toward the basement stairs.

 

“It’s only loaded with tranquilizers,” Fred explained quickly, before the vampire could be set upon by the Slayer’s well-intentioned friends.

 

“What are you doing?” Willow demanded at almost exactly the same time, taking a step toward Angel even as Fred gently pulled her back.

 

Angel’s expression was dark and furious as he paused in the doorway to respond before disappearing into the basement.

 

“Shutting her up.”

 

****************************************

 

By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Spike was nearly hyperventilating, despite the fact that he didn’t need the oxygen he was desperately drawing in. He clung to Tara as she helped him to the bed, sitting down beside him and cradling him close to her in her arms.

 

“Shhh,” she soothed him tenderly, running gentle fingertips through his hair in a comforting gesture. “It’s all right…it’s all right, Sweetheart…”

 

“Sh-she said…she said…” he gasped out, struggling to tell her, though he could not draw enough breath to complete the thought.

 

“It’s okay,” Tara cut him off firmly. “It doesn’t matter. It’s all lies, Spike. All those things she keeps telling you…all lies.”

 

Spike made no further attempt to argue or explain, and his breathing slowly evened out as she held him, rocking slightly in an attempt to calm him. After a few moments, Spike went very still in her arms, swallowing hard, reining in his feelings before slowly raising his head to look her in the eyes.

 

There was some indefinable, dark emotion in his gaze, but Tara could not place it, as he studied her face, whispering a tremulous question under his breath, “Is it? *All* lies? There’s always…always a grain of truth, yeah? Some…thing that makes it believable in the first place?”

 

“It’s only believable because of the way that she’s hurt you, Spike,” Tara reminded him gently, cautiously raising a hand to touch his face, gratified when he did not pull away. “She’s hurt you long enough and bad enough that you believe you deserve it…but that doesn’t make it true.”

 

Spike was silent for a moment, apparently taking in her words, his face now strangely calm. Finally he spoke again in a soft, certain tone of voice. “You can’t possibly want me like this, Tara. Not…not like this…”

 

“Of course I want you, Spike,” Tara whispered, her voice low and husky as her hand trailed from his cheek down to his shoulder. “I’ll always want you.”

 

Something sparked in the vampire’s eyes at her words, and Tara saw a faint light of hope there…but it was strangely unsettling to her. His jaw set with determination, and he suddenly raised his hands to her waist, pulling her urgently in close to him as his mouth descended upon hers, caressing in a kiss that was almost fierce in its intensity.

 

Instinctively Tara responded, one hand rising to cup the back of his head as the other slid down to his waist, drawing him nearer to her as her mouth yielded to his welcome intrusion. Mental alarms competed with desperate desire as one of his hands trailed slowly upward to gently cup one covered breast.

 

“Spike,” she gasped out when she broke away to draw breath. “Spike, wait…are you sure…?”

 

“’Course I’m sure,” he ground out, grasping her arms and pulling her down onto the bed to lie on top of him. “I love you, Tara…love you…wh-whatever you want, love…”

 

The alarms grew louder in Tara’s mind as his hands urgently trailed over her body, one grasping her hand and drawing it down to his still-covered manhood. “’M yours, Tara,” he whispered in a voice that carried a desperate tremble. “All yours…whatever you need…I can be it…I can do it, Tara…whatever you need me to be…”

 

The alarms in Tara’s head became screaming sirens, and she fought through the haze of desire he was so expertly building up in her, her hands scrabbling blindly for his, catching his wrists and stilling his frantic movements.

 

“Spike,” she choked out, trying to make her voice sound firm. “Spike…wait…slow down…”

 

As he found his chosen release thwarted, Spike’s emotions began to overwhelm him, filling him with a sense of panicked desperation. “Please,” he sobbed, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, shaking his head in desperate refusal as she tried to stop him, his wrists tense in her hands, though he was not really fighting her. “Please…I need…I need this…need you to…”

 

Tears sprang to Tara’s eyes at the stark anguish she heard in his voice, and she waited in silence for him to go on, waited for him to regain enough courage and composure to finish.

 

“…make me forget…make me stop…seeing her…”

 

Tara’s stomach dropped as she was reminded once more of the emotional agony Buffy’s abuse still caused Spike on a regular basis, even when he had *not* just experienced it moments earlier. Her hands softened on his wrists, sliding down to clasp his hands supportively, and he clutched them desperately, his lips trembling as he struggled to find the words to go on.

 

“Sh-she was right. I c-can’t…can’t stop seeing her, every time I close my eyes. Feeling her…every time…” He shuddered, shaking his head as he turned it away in shame. “I can’t…Tara…please, h-help me…help me stop…s-seeing her…please…”

 

“Spike…” Tara whispered, silencing his pleas with her gentle voice, waiting until she was certain she had his attention before offering her simple, profound advice.

 

“…open your eyes.”

 

Spike opened tearful eyes, gazing up at her in pleading desolation. Her eyes were serious and compassionate over a gentle, encouraging smile. “See *me*,” she whispered, brushing the backs of her fingertips lightly over his cheek. “You’re safe, Spike. It’s me who’s touching you…holding you…not her. Never her again.”

 

Spike’s eyes fluttered closed for another moment before he looked up at her again, despair in his aching gaze. “I…I know that, love,” he whispered, a shudder in his voice as he held her to him like a lifeline. “I know…when I’m looking at you…but…but every time I…I close my eyes…”

 

Tara’s soft fingertips traced across his lips, silencing him as she gave a slight shrug and countered, “Who says you have to close your eyes?”

 

Spike had no answer for that startling question, and simply stared up at her in bewildered wonder as she slid cautiously to the side, so that she was no longer on top of him, but lying beside him, cradling him gently in her arms. She did not know exactly how to help her confused, traumatized vampire, but she was fairly certain that it did not involve being in a position of dominance over him…no matter how vague and innocent that position might be.

 

Now that she thought about how pitifully eager he had been to please her when this encounter had begun, the way he had pulled her down on top of him took on a far darker, more sinister feeling, and she felt a shiver run down her spine.

 

Even now, Buffy’s abuse haunted their every attempt at intimacy, leaving Spike convinced that his place was always to give, always to serve, with no regard for his own pleasure or needs.

 

*That poisonous lie dies tonight.*

 

Her silent vow echoing in her mind, Tara held Spike’s gaze, unrelenting, her encouraging smile still in place, though her heart ached for him. He was tense, trembling, clearly uncertain as to what was expected of him. His hands rested lightly at her hips, his eyes downcast, his lips parted in an as yet unspoken question.

 

“It’s all right,” Tara assured him gently. “It’s all right. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, Spike. You don’t have to ever do anything you don’t want to do.”

 

“But…you need…”

 

“No,” she cut him off, a stern edge to her voice. “No, Spike. This isn’t about what I need. It’s about what *you* need.” She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was hushed and earnest, seeking nothing more than to love him better. “What do you need from me, Spike? Tell me what I can do for you.”

 

Spike hesitated, his eyes welling with tears, still unable to bring them to meet hers. His words were hushed, heavy with shame and uncertainty as he replied in a halting voice, “I…I need you to…to *want* me…to need me…” He paused, swallowing back a sob, his head lowering further as he barely breathed his next words, “I need you to…to help me to want…like that…again. I’m afraid…I’m afraid I’ll never…”

 

His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, too ashamed to complete the thought…but Tara knew his fears.

 

She had felt them herself, in the wake of her brother’s abuse.

 

“You will,” she whispered, snuggling in closer to him. “Give it time, Sweetheart…”

 

“I can’t.” Spike shook his head, an urgency in his trembling voice. “I…I have to know…Tara…please…”

 

Tara’s heart went still for an instant as she realized exactly what it was he was asking of her, and then quickened with her thoughts as she mentally debated whether or not it was the right thing to do, the thing that would help him through this torment of self-doubt and shame in which he was mired.

 

“Spike…I don’t think…”

 

The vampire did not wait for the perceived rejection to be complete. Instantly he pulled back away from her, his arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Knew it,” he whispered. “Just admit it. You *don’t* want me…”

 

“I *do* want you,” Tara insisted. “I’m just not sure…”

 

“Then prove it.” The unexpected note of steel in Spike’s voice drew her eyes back to his in startled uncertainty. There was no uncertainty in his, not at the moment. “Tara…*show me*…” His voice softened, taking on a pleading note as he finished, “Please…”

 

Tara considered for a moment longer, her heart aching with doubt, and the intensity of her love for the broken creature before her. The last thing she wanted to do was to cause him any further injury to his shattered psyche. And yet, she remembered those first months of freedom at UC Sunnydale, when she had felt so…so damaged and dirty, certain that no one would ever want to touch her again.

 

She remembered how the love and attraction of one person had gently coaxed her out of her shell, made her feel whole and lovable and *human* again.

 

“Okay,” she agreed finally in a whisper, wide, solemn eyes locked onto his. “But we’re going to do this a certain way…all right?”

 

Spike let out a long, shaky breath of relief, his eyes closed momentarily before opening with gratitude on hers. “All right.” He nodded hurriedly. “Any way you want, love…”

 

“No…any way *you* want,” Tara corrected in a mildly stern voice. She paused, allowing her words to sink in before she explained, “We’re only going to do what you’re comfortable with, Spike. We’re not going to do anything you don’t want to do. We’re gonna take it slow, and make sure you’re ready before we do *anything*…okay?”

 

Spike nodded. “Yeah…all right.”

 

Tara rose slowly from the bed, gently disentangling herself from his embrace, and walked to the door. She shut it firmly, then locked it, wanting to be certain that they were not disturbed or interrupted.

 

This was going to be a delicate enough venture as it was.

 

When she turned back toward Spike, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, trembling fingers attempting to work the buttons of his shirt, fumbling and slipping off before he could unfasten them. He drew in a deep breath as she cautiously approached him, shaking his head in self-deprecating disgust.

 

“’M sorry,” he murmured. “I…I don’t know…wh-what’s the matter with…”

 

Her hand closed gently but firmly around his, stilling his efforts to disrobe. He looked reluctantly up at her, shame in his eyes, but she was smiling with tender compassion, a quiet, patient question in her eyes.

 

“I guess it’s just…just that she…always…m-made me…She wouldn’t, of course, but she’d make me…”

 

“You don’t have to,” Tara assured him gently, and he looked back up at her in startled confusion that slowly turned to awed gratitude at her words. “This is about you. You don’t have to do *anything* you don’t want to do…and that includes getting undressed, Spike.”

 

He swallowed hard, staring up at her with such a depth of love in his eyes that she was moved to tears, blinking them away as she asked in a hoarse, husky whisper, “Would you…would you like *me* to…?”

 

Her fingers hesitated along the line of buttons that ran up the front of her blouse, waiting for his consent. Spike’s eyes widened as they followed the motion of her fingers, and his breath hitched slightly in his chest before he met her darkened gaze again. He didn’t say a word, only nodded slightly, his trembling hands reaching out to draw her forward.

 

Slowly, Tara unfastened the buttons, and allowed her soft velveteen blouse to slip over her shoulders and to the floor.


	72. Chapter 72

Spike gazed up at Tara, his eyes drifting between her deep, piercing eyes, and her full breasts, now covered only by a black satin bra trimmed along the edges with delicate black lace. She kept her eyes focused on his as she reached behind her, arching her back slightly as her hands found the clasp on the back of her bra.

 

She paused before unfastening it, giving him a shy, encouraging smile as she asked, “You…you want me to…?”

 

Spike swallowed hard, though it did little to soothe his dry throat. His wide eyes met hers with a flash of uncertainty, before he lowered them. “I…if you want to…”

 

“Spike.” Tara’s voice held a note of gentle warning as she lowered a hand to brush his cheek, her back straightening as she faced him firmly. “What did I say?”

 

“I…I know. W-what *I* want…” He struggled over the words, hardly able to conceive of the idea, it seemed so foreign to him at that point. He hesitated, then met her eyes again, anxious and uncertain as he ventured, “Y-yes? Yes, I…I want you to…”

 

Without a word, without hesitation, Tara reached behind her back and unfastened her bra, allowing it to fall to the floor with her blouse, exposing her full breasts to his view. As she edged closer to Spike, still seated on the edge of the bed, she heard his breathing quicken slightly, and was careful to move slowly, cautiously, not wanting to trigger his fears again, so recently fresh in his mind.

 

She sat down beside him on the bed, sliding close to him and reaching out to take his hand. It was trembling. She gently caressed the back of his hand with her thumb, waiting in the quiet for him to adjust to the situation. Finally, she ventured a question in a soft, cautious voice.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

Spike nodded, his eyes rising only as far as her bare breasts before lowering self-consciously to his lap again. “Yeah.”

 

“This is okay?”

 

“Yeah…yeah…”

 

“You’re sure? We won’t go any farther unless you’re sure,” Tara assured him gently.

 

Spike smiled almost shyly, nodding again as he insisted, “’M fine, love, promise. Fine.”

 

“Okay,” Tara finally accepted his assurances, her hand leaving his to tilt his chin up, encouraging him to meet her eyes. “Then…what do you want to do now?”

 

Spike found his eyes drawn to her lush, full form, his throat going dry as the first stirrings of arousal began deep within him. Tara was incredibly beautiful to him, though she was extremely different from any woman he had been with before…or perhaps *because* of that fact.

 

His mind could not help calling to mind the image of Buffy’s bare form, her small, pert breasts, her body all strength, hard lines and angles in comparison to Tara’s soft curves and generous bosom. Spike shuddered, forcing the agony of Buffy’s memory from his mind and trying to focus on Tara’s question.

 

He hesitated, a question in his own eyes as he shook his head slightly. “I…I don’t know, Tara. Wh-what…what’s…okay…?”

 

Tara felt her heart break a little at the question, a reminder of how thoroughly broken Spike was, how he had been made to believe that he had to ask permission before seeking any form of pleasure for himself. In his fragile mind, twisted and tortured by Buffy’s mental and emotional abuse, his own body was no longer his own to do with as he would, let alone anyone else’s.

 

“Spike…*anything’s* okay,” she reminded him softly, caressing his cheek. “Anything you want, I’m okay with. I told you that already, okay?” She paused, sensing that he was going to need a bit more encouragement before he would yield to his own desires. She took his hand in hers again, guiding it slowly toward the bare skin of her side.

 

“If you wanna touch me,” she suggested in a warm, inviting tone, soft and lush, an invitation resounding quietly in the stillness of the room. “If you wanna kiss me…anything you want…right?”

 

Spike nodded, his breath hitching slightly in his throat, quickening as he watched his hand in Tara’s come within a bare inch of her body.

 

“So…what will it be?” Tara pressed gently, a trace of concern in her voice though she was clearly attempting to sound more sultry than motherly. “You tell me, Spike. Tell me what you want…and that’s what we’ll do…”

 

Spike just kept staring at his own hand, so close to her, fighting back the deeply ingrained feelings that this was forbidden to him, for so many reasons. She couldn’t be his; he didn’t deserve such a lovely, loving person to give herself to him. He wasn’t allowed to touch anyone but Buffy, and only when she wanted him to, and…and…

 

Swallowing back his terror, Spike carefully pulled his hand from Tara’s, and laid it, trembling and cautious and uncertain, on the warm, silken skin just above the waistband of her long skirt. He was quiet for a moment, as his fingers stroked lightly, tentatively back and forth over the space beneath them, before he raised his eyes to hers once more, this time glistening with tears.

 

“I want…I want you to…lie down with me?” he whispered. “Will you…?”

 

Tara nodded, her smile softening as her hand cupped the back of his neck in an affectionately protective gesture. “Of course,” she whispered, sitting down on the edge of the bed as he slid backward across it, then lying down on it as he did so that they were each lying on their sides, facing each other.

 

When Spike returned his hand to rest on Tara’s side, it was with more confidence this time, stroking lightly back and forth as he just stared at her, his eyes drifting over her exposed body, just drinking her in with wonder and gratitude in his eyes.

 

The smooth feel of her skin beneath his hand was a delight he had thought forbidden to him, and he swallowed hard, his breathing shaky and uncertain as he kept his other hand self-consciously against his chest, as if unsure where to put it, what to do with it.

 

Tara reached up and took his hand, pulling it gently away from his chest, caressing his palm with her fingertips as she whispered soothingly to him, her other hand covering his at her side and guiding it slowly, cautiously upward.

 

“I love you, Spike,” she reminded him tenderly, holding his gaze as she spoke. “I love you so much. I’m giving myself to you, Sweetheart. I want you to touch me…to do anything you want to me, Spike, okay? Anything you want…”

 

Spike closed his eyes briefly, his breath quickening as his fingertips were guided slowly toward her breasts. Before reaching them, however, Tara released his hand, and he froze for a moment, his eyes still closed, before edging his fingertips higher, brushing them slowly over the surface of her soft, silky skin. He opened his eyes, focusing on hers, seeking reassurance that this was good, okay, as his hand brushed across the underside of her breast in a feather-soft touch.

 

Tara let out a low sigh of pleasure, her head falling back slightly and her eyes closing as she whispered, “Spike…that’s good…you’re doing so…so good, Sweetheart…I love you so much…”

 

Tara knew that she loved Spike, knew that this gentle, wounded creature had somehow broken through the walls of her very identity, the terms she had used to define herself and her attractions. She had wanted him, desired him, for a while now. Still, the thrill of pleasure she felt at the soft, cool touch of his hand took her by surprise, sending a rush of longing and excitement through the very core of her being.

 

Although he had barely touched her, Spike was immediately aware of the faint trace of arousal emanating from her body. Her words and her response were the reassurance he needed, and Spike touched her a bit more firmly, running his thumb along the curve where her heavy breast met her torso, feeling a brief electric thrill of arousal as she moved under his touch, letting out another soft little gasp of pleasure.

 

She was so beautiful, so gentle and sweetly responsive to his touch in a way that Buffy had never been. Buffy had treated him like a toy, worthless unless she was ruthlessly using his body to bring about her own pleasure, and had often required violence to bring about her satisfaction.

 

Tara acted as if his slightest touch, the simple act of affection, was enough to bring her intense pleasure. She slowly, almost lazily raised her head again, meeting his eyes with a sensual smile full of affection.

 

“You’re doing so good, Spike,” she repeated raising a hand to touch his face. “You still okay?”

 

He nodded, breathless now as the contact with her soft, yielding flesh and her nearly constant words of affirmation built his desire within him.

 

“Do you want…do you want me to touch you?” Tara asked, sounding more than a little breathless herself. “What do you want me to do, Spike?” He hesitated, his tongue darting out to lick his lips in a nervous gesture as his eyes fell for a moment before meeting hers again. “If you don’t want me to, I’ll just…”

 

“Please.”

 

Tara waited, uncertain as to his meaning, simply quiet and waiting for his explanation.

 

“Please,” Spike repeated, his eyes intent and full of mingled desire and terror as he clarified, “yes…”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

Spike’s eyes welled with tears as he drew in a deep, shaky breath, expelling it in a weary sigh. “I…I’ve been hers for…for so bloody long, love. Sorry if it’s…if it’s takin’ me a bit to…to…”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” Tara insisted, nestling in closer to him, her fingers caressing his cheek soothingly. “Don’t be…however you feel…whatever you want…it’s all right. It’s perfectly all right, Spike…okay?”

 

“Make me forget…”

 

Tara’s eyes widened as she frowned in slight confusion, giving him a patiently questioning look.

 

Spike swallowed hard, his eyes focused just below hers before he looked her in the eye and whispered in a voice full of stark pain and desperation, “Make me yours, Tara…and make me forget that I was ever hers…please…”

 

Tara’s frown deepened with concern. “You need to be *yours*, Spike…can you see that? Not mine or anyone else’s…your own…”

 

“I kn-know, but…but I can’t,” Spike whispered with a slight note of panic in his voice, shaking his head, leaning in closer to her, his hand at her side clutching her nearer to him. “I can’t…not yet…I w-wouldn’t know how anymore…but I can be yours, Tara…I *want* to be yours…”

 

“Spike…” Tara hesitated, shaking her head, afraid that this was taking a possibly dangerous turn.

 

“Touch me,” Spike interrupted in a trembling but insistent voice, taking her hand and leading it firmly to the sensitive skin of his stomach, guiding it beneath the hem of his untucked t-shirt, his eyes lowered but focused intently somewhere around her throat. “Touch me, Tara…I want you to…I want you to make me forget…”

 

Tara wavered a moment longer in indecision, before her uncertainties faded away into determination. It was not what she might have hoped for…but then, who had she been kidding? Spike was not ready to take charge of this encounter completely; so she would give him the next best thing she had to offer. Her thumb caressed the back of his hand lightly in a reassuring way before shifting to gently stroke back and forth, from his stomach to his side and back again, back and forth in a rhythmically soothing motion.

 

He tensed at the first contact, but she simply continued with slow, gentle caresses, tenderly drawing her hand over his firm, flawless stomach, savoring the smooth, muscular feel of him before shifting downward to the line of his hip, hesitating before going any further, wary lest she should advance before he was ready to do so.

 

“You want this?” she asked softly. “You’re ready? You’re sure?”

 

Spike nodded breathlessly, gasping softly as her hand shifted lower, resting lightly over the swelling bulge in the front of his jeans. His eyes closed, his hand slipping from her waist to fist in the sheet beneath him at the first faint touch of her hand. Tara’s free hand immediately reached to catch his hand again, moving it firmly back to her waist. Spike flinched slightly, trying to pull his hand away, but she held it there.

 

“No, Spike,” she whispered gently. “I want you to touch me back. If you’re mine…then I’m yours too, okay? I’m yours, too.”

 

Spike shook his head, his eyes tightly closed as he gasped out, “No…no, I c-can’t…n-not allowed…”

 

“Spike,” Tara cut him off softly, fighting back her tears at the panicked sound of his voice, and the knowledge that he was being transported against his will back to a very different time and place. “Spike…open your eyes. Look at me.”

 

“Not allowed,” he repeated in an anguished whisper, his mouth trembling as he fought back tears. “Can’t…”

 

“*Look at me*,” Tara insisted, and Spike reluctantly opened eyes glistening with remembered pain, gazing up at her with pleading desperation. Tara met his eyes with a loving, understanding expression, gently rubbing his hand slowly back and forth at her side as she continued softly, “See *me*, Spike…not her. She’s gone. She’s not touching you…never gonna hurt you. You’re *safe* here.”

 

Spike stared dutifully into her eyes, unwilling to look away simply because she had asked him not to, and gradually, her words began to sink in, and the blind terror began to fade from his gaze. He found that the contact with her warm, silken skin had a grounding effect, reminding him that this, here, with her, was what was real – not the horrific memories that threatened to invade his mind should he close his eyes for a moment.

 

Spike nodded slowly, holding her gaze as his breathing began to even out…and his hand pulled hesitantly free of hers, moving of its own accord up her torso once more.

 

“That’s it,” Tara whispered. “That’s it, Sweetheart. It’s okay. Anything you wanna do, it’s all okay, Spike…you’re allowed to do anything you want…” Gently, cautiously, Tara traced her fingers over the outline of his manhood through his jeans, and Spike shuddered slightly, looking away again.

 

“Keep looking at me,” Tara instructed without stopping. Spike obeyed as if by instinct, meeting her eyes uncertainly, but this time without any real fear. “Don’t close your eyes, Spike…keep seeing me…keep knowing this is *me* touching you…loving you…never gonna hurt you…”

 

Spike’s eyes widened slightly, a spark of pleasure in them, and he drew in a gasp as her touch intensified slightly, caressing his body to an ever-increasing state of arousal. His hand gripped her side more tightly, high under her arm, as his other hand fell to rest just above her other breast, his body trembling with the desire he was struggling both to repress and release at the same time.

 

“Do you like this?” Tara whispered, searching his gaze with earnest concern. “Does this feel good?”

 

Spike nodded, unable to find words, slowly losing himself in the intensity of her eyes, her touch, her soft, hypnotic voice, and the physical pleasure she was awakening in him, pleasure for once devoid of the brutality that had always accompanied it in his recent experience.

 

“Good…I want to make you happy, Spike,” Tara told him simply. “I love you…I’m touching you because I love you…never to hurt you. I want you to feel good…I only want to do what you want…” Her gentle assurances were accompanied by firm, rhythmic strokes up and down the length of his rapidly swelling erection, still through his jeans. “You deserve this, Spike. You deserve to be happy…to feel pleasure. No one has the right to hurt you, ever, and I never will…I promise…if you wanna stop…if you don’t like anything I’m doing…you tell me, we’ll stop…okay?”

 

Spike shook his head, glancing away before remembering and meeting her eyes again. “No…’s okay…it’s good,” he assured her, nodding as his hand shifted slowly downward, cupping her bare breast in a light, barely daring touch. “F-feels…good…love you, Tara…”

 

“I love you,” she replied, rewarding him with a warm smile. “I love you…” She paused, her fingers playing at the top of his zipper, her eyes questioning even before she spoke. “Is this all right? Do you want me to…?”

 

A brief flash of fear was visible in Spike’s eyes, and he bit his lower lip for a moment, before nodding, looking down again, his hand on her breast trembling and faltering slightly. “Yeah,” he whispered, “’s all right…”

 

“Spike…look at me…”

 

He obeyed, gratefully allowing his fears to be swallowed up in the warmth and reassurance on her face.

 

“It’s all right. You’re safe. I’m not gonna hurt you…”

 

He nodded, holding her gaze bravely, and Tara slowly, cautiously pulled the zipper downward, allowing his erection to spring free. She glanced down at it as her hand caressed the sensitive flesh lovingly, before meeting his eyes again. To her dismay, Spike was looking away, his face crumpled in an expression of shame and humiliation.

 

“Hey,” she whispered, her free hand moving to turn his face back up toward hers, her hand stilling but not leaving the source of his physical need. “Hey, Sweetheart…look at me…”

 

Spike’s shoulders shook as he allowed her to lift his head, but could not bring himself to meet her eyes. “I’m s-sorry,” he cried quietly. “I…I didn’t mean to…I mean…I don’t d-deserve…”

 

“Yes, you do,” Tara cut him off firmly, her voice trembling with a quiet, repressed anger that was not directed at him. “Spike, look at me. Open your eyes.”

 

The vampire obeyed, his sparkling blue eyes miserable and ashamed.

 

“You *do* deserve to be loved…to feel good and worthy and…and that you mean something to someone…do you hear me?”

 

Despairing, Spike shook his head slowly, swallowing back a sob, but not looking away from her.

 

“You do,” Tara insisted. “This isn’t about what I want or need. You shouldn’t be ashamed to feel pleasure, Spike. You shouldn’t be ashamed of this…” As she spoke, her fingertips trailed a single circle around the head of his erection.

 

Spike shuddered slightly, but did not pull away, did not look away, as he confessed in a whisper, “She…she made me feel…she said…”

 

“Everything she told you was a lie, Spike. Your pleasure is nothing to be ashamed of,” Tara assured him, her fingertips becoming bolder as she pulled and caressed, drawing another shudder, a much different sort of shudder, from Spike’s trembling frame. “I love you…and you deserve it.” Tara smiled into his eyes, leaning in close to brush his lips with a tender kiss, never breaking eye contact as she pulled back and continued, “You’re so amazing…so strong and beautiful and…and just amazing, Spike. I love you, and you deserve every bit of pleasure and happiness I can give you…and I *want* to give it to you…I’ll spend my life giving it to you…”

 

Spike’s eyes fluttered closed for just an instant, and when he opened them his face was streaked with the tears that had been pressed out. “God, I love you, Tara,” he whispered, his breath hitching slightly as she quickened the pace of her strokes, drawing him closer to his release.

 

“This is beautiful…and special…and new,” Tara whispered, her eyes locked onto his as she caressed him tenderly, with a hand that was surprisingly adept considering her experience. “We’re erasing those old memories, Spike. We’re replacing them. This is how it’s supposed to be…not the perversion she made it. This is what you’re supposed to have…what you deserve to have…”

 

Her expression softened with awe as his eyes became hazy with the pleasure she was giving him, his lips turning up in the faintest hint of a smile at her beautiful promises. His hands cupped her breasts, caressing and stroking in fluttering, cautious touches that grew more certain and less careful with each passing moment, further awakening her own desire, though for the moment, she chose to ignore it.

 

This was all about Spike.

 

His wide blue eyes stared at her in shock and wonder as her hand brought him to the edge of his desire, her words giving him a new world of love and hope he had thought lost to him forever. He let out a sharp cry of pleasure as he felt himself nearing the edge of the cliff, about to drop over the edge into ecstasy, and let his eyes fall closed, his head falling backward slightly.

 

“No,” Tara whispered. “Open your eyes.”

 

Spike obeyed with an effort, grateful for her thoughtfulness, aware that had his memories returned to him in the moment of his completion, it would likely have irreversibly shattered the moment, and set back his progress tremendously. He held her, his hands smoothing over her body as she pulled slightly harder, gently wringing his release from him.

 

His eyes locked onto hers throughout the entire affair created an increased intensity, an intimacy that was beyond anything he had ever experienced before. As she alternated soft, light touches with firmer strokes, her fingertips slipped beneath his erection every now and then to explore his swollen, heavy sac with teasing, almost tickling touches.

 

An exquisite pleasure, the first untainted by torment in as long as he could remember, swept through Spike’s body, carrying him away on a heady wave of sensation that consumed him, as he let out a strangled cry of pleasure and release, staining her skirt with his spendings.

 

It didn’t bother her in the least.

 

Tara’s hands went to his waist, sliding up and down as she held him close to her, embracing him in her protective arms as his completion shuddered through him.

 

When his body went slack and trembling in her arms, Tara pulled back just enough to kiss him tenderly before meeting his gaze with a questioning smile. “How was it?” she asked in a whisper tinged with uncertainty. “Better?”

 

Spike blinked away tears, nodding gratefully before resting his head in the crook of her shoulder, breathing deeply of her sweet, spicy scent, clutching her to him as if he would never let go. “So…so sweet,” he whispered, shaking his head in wonder, his words slightly muffled against her skin. “Love you, Tara…love you…thank you…love you…”

 

Tara just held him, her hand running soothingly up and down the smooth planes of his back as she waited for him to be ready to face her again. Finally, he raised his head, gazing at her in unmasked adoration through tear-filled eyes. His hands slid slowly up and down her sides, and his expression became serious, though peaceful, as he arched one eyebrow in a silent question.

 

“Wanna thank you, love,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse with emotion. “Wanna love you…wanna give *you* the pleasure you deserve. Can I…?”

 

Tara felt a fresh flood of arousal at the low, seductive suggestion in his words, and this time untainted by the guilt and doubt she might have felt before. Her voice quavered slightly, hitching as his hand slid down just below the waistline of her skirt, and she felt her heartbeat quicken, a throbbing ache beginning at the core of her sex at the teasing, suggestive contact.

 

Somehow she managed to get out in a choked, halting whisper, “If…if you want to…”


	73. Chapter 73

“Aww, isn’t this sweet,” Buffy sneered as Angel stalked furiously toward her cage. “I’m getting visits from *both* my boys!”

 

“Shut up,” Angel snarled, raising the tranquilizer gun in preparation to fire. “You’ve said more than enough already.”

 

Buffy let out a rather rude, unladylike snort of contempt at his words, raising a single eyebrow and meeting the eyes of her former lover as she declared softly, “You’re just mad ‘cause I got to him first.” She paused, her eyes going wide with feigned surprise as she let out a little gasp and amended, “Oh, wait…”

 

“Shut. Up.”

 

But Angel winced even as he spoke the words, accompanied by a low, warning growl, because he was unable to deny that the accusation in them was true. Buffy’s abuse of Spike was made even more difficult for him to stomach, he knew, by the fact that as Angelus he had done many of the same things to the younger vampire, and worse.

 

It had taken Spike some time to recover from the torments his sire had visited upon him, and in the end, only proving himself the stronger vampire had made it possible for Spike to rebuild his broken confidence and become the Slayer of Slayers of renown. Angelus had been an expert at mind games, but if her greeting words to Angel now were any indication, this version of Buffy was no novice, either.

 

And Spike had been *in love* with her.

 

That had to make it so much worse.

 

“Oops, sorry.” The Slayer smirked, the sympathetic look on her face as false as her apology. “Did I hit a little close to home?”

 

“It’s different now,” Angel insisted, not sure why he felt the need to explain himself to her, even now. “I didn’t have a soul back then. You do.”

 

“Do I?” Buffy waited a moment for her words to sink in, visibly relishing the stunned expression on Angel’s face before she went on. “Maybe I lost it when they ripped me out of heaven and brought me back to this nightmare existence.” She shrugged, pacing slowly in her cell as she suggested, “Or maybe they only brought back some fragmented part of my mind, the killer part that makes me capable of being the Slayer. Or you know,” she finished as she stopped her pacing, coming as close to the bars as the chains that bound her would allow, fixing Angel with a piercing stare, her eyes dark and filled with menace, “maybe I just got sick and tired of being good little Buffy, doing everything everybody else wanted me to do all the time. Maybe I just decided to take what I want for a change and everybody else can go to the hell they supposedly thought I was in.”

 

“They thought they were helping you, Buffy. They thought they were *saving* you…”

 

“Me? Or themselves?” Buffy demanded, her eyes narrowed in fury. “It was them they were trying to save from hell…them and all of Sunnydale, without a Slayer to keep the Hellmouth in check. They’re just lucky I didn’t let it all out sooner,” she sneered, cold malice in her smile.

 

“Why Spike?” Angel couldn’t help asking, though he knew he should just shoot her with the tranq dart and go back upstairs. “He wasn’t part of bringing you back. He *loved* you, Buffy; he would have done anything for you, let you do anything. Why would you single him out and do this to him?”

 

“You said the answer yourself a second ago.” Buffy’s voice softened, sending a chill down his spine as she answered simply, “Because he let me.”

 

Angel was startled by the cold ruthlessness of the words, and he blinked, taking an involuntary step back in horror.

 

“He let it start. And every time I took it one step farther, I thought he’d back out…thought he’d leave…but he didn’t.” Buffy smiled, a secretive smile of remembered surprise. “He stayed, and he let me take it farther…and farther…until I realized…”

 

When she just stopped, didn’t go on, Angel pushed her, without understanding why he needed to hear the rest of what she was going to say. “What? You realized what?”

 

Buffy regarded him for a moment calmly before concluding, “I can do anything I want to do. No one *can* stop me. Even when he *did* try, later…after things had gone so much farther…he couldn’t stop me. And if he couldn’t, I *know* my pathetic little human friends couldn’t stop me. No one can. So if no one can stop me from doing exactly what I want to do exactly when I want to do it…then why should I do anything else?”

 

The gun went off in Angel’s hand, and the dart flew into the Slayer’s shoulder. She stared down at it in mild surprise, and the vampire looked down at the gun in much the same way, not even having realized when he had fired. Buffy’s maniacal rant came to an abrupt end, as she slumped to the floor, unconscious.

 

*****************************

 

“Okay, it’s time to end this.”

 

“What?” Xander’s voice was disbelieving and quite a bit higher than normal as he whirled around to face Angel, who had just appeared at the top of the stairs. “*End* it? What are you talking about?”

 

“This whole thing,” Angel clarified rather unclearly with a vague wave of his hand. “It’s time we figured out what’s wrong with her and deal with it, one way or another. We can’t let her keep…doing this.”

 

The others all stared at him, curious and concerned at the shaking in his voice, a match for his trembling hand as he nervously ran it through his hair, beginning to pace restlessly across the lobby floor.

 

“She got to you, too, didn’t she?” Fred guessed dubiously, voicing the conclusion they had all already reached.

 

“You might say that,” Angel sighed. “She’s really good at the mind games. It’s best that she’s kept unconscious until we figure something out.” He was quiet for a moment, just pacing, his brow creased in thought. After a moment he held up a single finger, his pensive gaze still focused on the floor as he added, “But she *did* say a couple of things down there that bear researching.”

 

He looked up at Fred, glancing between her, Wesley and Anya as he instructed, “Look into the theory we were discussing before, how the resurrection spell might have altered or damaged her soul…or maybe just sent her back without it completely. Also, we need to check and see if there’s any way it might have brought back only…part of her. I mean, she’s the Slayer; maybe that made the spell work differently for her than it would have for a regular person.”

 

Willow listened closely, though Angel was clearly addressing the three who had been handling most of the research to this point. She took in his words quietly, waiting until he had finished to step into his line of sight, between him and the research team, her arms crossed over her chest defensively.

 

“Any other theories we should be looking into?” she asked, pointedly inserting herself into the research group.

 

Angel regarded her for a moment, remembering the third and most horrifying option Buffy had laid down for him in the basement – the possibility that upon her resurrection, she had simply decided to give up on everything that had ever meant anything to her in her former life, and give in to any selfish desire that crossed her mind.

 

The very thought was too disturbing to even consider.

 

“Let’s wait until the first two don’t pan out,” Angel replied at last, his voice weary as he raised a hand to press against his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “Then we’ll talk about other theories.”

 

Willow stared at him for a moment, trying to read what he was not saying in his expression, before finally giving up and turning toward the reception desk, where Anya, Fred, and Wesley had already begun opening books and turning pages.

 

Xander, on the other hand, was not so willing to let Angel’s last words go.

 

“What are you saying exactly?” he demanded, making no attempt to veil his hostility. “You’re saying if we don’t find anything, we’re gonna what? Give up on her? Use a real gun next time?”

 

“I’ve already said what I’m saying,” Angel bit off the words tersely, a dangerous note in his impatient voice. “I think we’ll find the answer in one of those two theories. If we don’t…well, we’ll worry about that if we don’t.”

 

“We have to help her!” Xander insisted.

 

“If we even *can* help her,” Anya amended, giving him an apologetic look when he turned incredulous, accusing eyes on her. “I mean…there’s no guarantee that whatever’s wrong with her can be fixed.”

 

“So let’s just try doors number one and two, and if we don’t find the answers there, we give her up as a lost cause?” Xander’s voice was trembling with anger as he stared disbelievingly between his girlfriend and Angel. “This is *Buffy* we’re talking about! She’s saved our lives, again and again. Even if those two ideas you mentioned don’t work…there could still be a way to save her!”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

The simple question made them all fall silent…but it was the shock of who was asking the question that seemed to suck all the oxygen from the room, leaving them all in a devastated state of stunned disbelief.

 

Dawn looked around the room at the adults surrounding her, her eyes glistening with tears. “I mean…after everything that’s happened…does it matter? Before Buffy slays a vampire, she doesn’t say, ‘Okay, hold up, let’s research every possible angle and see if there’s some way we can make this vampire not a vampire anymore’…does she?”

 

“Buffy’s not a vampire, Dawnie,” Willow spoke up, her voice trembling slightly, her eyes wide with shock.

 

“No. She’s worse,” Dawn concluded, her own voice shaking dangerously, her tears spilling over in salty tracks down her cheeks. “The things she’s done…do you really think she can…can come back from that? Do you think things will ever be the same? I mean…how can I look at her, without remembering…?” Dawn shook her head, her voice trailing off as she lowered her head and her shoulders shook with sobs.

 

“Oh, Dawnie…” Lorne was the closest to Dawn, and crossed the room to her side in a few steps, wrapping a tentative arm around her shoulders. “You can’t give up hope, kiddo…”

 

“What about Spike?” Dawn demanded suddenly, searching the empath’s eyes for an answer that no one in the room held. “How can we expect him to go on, seeing her day after day, remembering what she did to him? It’s not like her getting back to normal makes all that go away…if we even *can* get her back to normal.”

 

“We’ll figure it out, Sweetie Pie,” Lorne assured her softly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “One way or another. It won’t be easy…but we’ll figure it out.”

 

“It’s too late,” Dawn whispered, shaking her head, anguish in her sparkling blue eyes. “It’s way too late. They should never…” She stopped, lowering her eyes, unable to finish the words she knew to be truth.

 

The green-skinned demon gave the girl a sympathetic look, reading in her voice, her eyes, the subtleties of feeling that her mere words did not reveal. While the others were left in horrified shock that the girl could say such things about her own sister, Lorne knew that Dawn was simply trying to find some finality, some security in an answer to a situation with no easy solution…possibly no solution at all.

 

In truth, Dawn had realized what it would have done her friends well to realize long ago.

 

Dawn did not want her sister to die; she wanted her to never have come back at all.

 

************************************

 

Hours passed, and they were no closer to finding answers than they had been when they started. Anya had fallen asleep, her head on the reception desk, over a book containing a detailed explanation of the original resurrection spell; Fred and Wesley were poring over a single book, their heads close together as they discussed possibilities in muted tones, so as not to disturb the sleeping ex-demon.

 

“It’s not so very easy to find the details of possible side effects of the resurrection spell they used, because it’s rarely been done before,” Wesley explained in a hushed voice, speaking to Fred though he was staring absently at Anya. “There are too few precedents for anyone to have made any logical conclusions about consistent effects…and I believe she’s drooling on my books.” Wesley’s voice took on a tone of dismay and accusation, slightly wheedling as he looked up and repeated petulantly, “Angel…she’s drooling on my books!”

 

One look at the dark vampire silenced his protests, when he noticed that his boss did not seem to be in a pleasant mood.

 

Angel had never been much good on the research end of things, and the path he was continually pacing, back and forth across the carpet, was visibly worn beneath his feet. Gunn had gone to bed, telling them to wake him if they discovered anything with which he could actually help.

 

Lorne sat on the sofa with Dawn’s head in his lap, gently running his finger’s through the sleeping girl’s hair soothingly. She had cried herself out and fallen asleep, her young heart and mind no longer able to deal with the agony of conflicting feelings they were trying to process without success.

 

“Still nothing?” Angel asked, leaving his path to check with Wesley and Fred for the seventh time that hour.

 

“Not yet,” Wesley sighed with no little irritation in his voice. “We’re trying, Angel, but these texts don’t seem to be as relevant as we had hoped, and the parts that do seem to have potential are in languages with which I am not familiar.”

 

Angel took that in, a grim smile of resignation crossing his lips. “I was hoping not to have to do this, but I’m starting to think we don’t have a choice.”

 

“Do what?” Willow asked, looking up with interest from the book she was reading. “What are you doing?”

 

Angel picked up the phone from the desk, flipping through the rolodex beside it as he answered without turning to face her. “Calling Giles.”


	74. Chapter 74

Tara felt her heartbeat quicken as Spike lowered his lips to her throat in a feather-soft brush of a kiss, her neck arching backward to encourage the contact, just as he withdrew it. Her closed eyes fluttered open again, staring at him as he pulled back to meet her gaze, a world of mingled emotions in his sparkling blue eyes.

 

“I…I love you so much, Tara,” he whispered, blinking back tears that caught in his lashes and shone in his eyes. “I wanna do…whatever you want…whatever you need…”

 

“J-just for you…to be happy…”

 

Tara gasped as his hand slid beneath the waistband of her skirt, edging it slowly downward. They were still lying side by side on the bed, her arms around him as his hands began a cautious exploration of her body. Tara had resisted the natural impulse to take control of the situation where Spike could not, carefully making sure that they were on equal ground in the encounter, side by side. Spike was not quite ready to control the situation, could not quite bring himself to lie on top of her; and Tara knew that the last thing he needed was to feel controlled or dominated in any way.

 

Now, Spike’s hands trembled as they edged the elastic waistband of her skirt slowly down over her hips.

 

“M-may I…?” He hesitated over the question, lowering his gaze self-consciously.

 

Tara’s warm hands moved to gently cover his, waiting until he reluctantly met her eyes again to respond. “You can do whatever you want, Spike. I’m yours. I love you, and I’m yours.”

 

She was surprised and dismayed as Spike’s head lowered again, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs as his hands beneath hers clutched her tighter to him. His forehead fell to rest against her bare shoulder, and she could feel the cool moisture of his tears as she put her arms around him again.

 

“What is it?” she asked in a gentle whisper. “Spike, what’s wrong?”

 

“N-nothing’s wrong,” he replied immediately, shaking his head against her shoulder, and Tara realized that she could feel the slight upturn of his lips as he smiled, as well as his tears on her skin. “’S just…don’t hardly deserve…couldn’t ever…” His voice trailed off, choked with emotion, and he just shook his head again, at a loss.

 

“Hey,” Tara objected, reaching a hand up to gently push him back so that she could look him in the eyes. “You *do* deserve me, Spike. You *more* than deserve me…”

 

“Give it up,” he cut her off with a smile that was both sad and joyful at the same time, as Spike basked in the glow of a blessing of which he felt himself unworthy. “Never gonna convince me of that, love…”

 

Tara’s eyes narrowed in determination, her lips tightening as she insisted, “Oh, yes I am…”

 

“Tara, love…” Spike interrupted, his eyes softening with devotion on hers, before drifting toward her lips with desire again. “…one hurdle at a time, yeah? Let’s just…just…”

 

Once again, he found that words were not enough to express what he wanted to say to her, and he lowered his mouth to hers, his tongue venturing past them as her lips parted to allow him entrance.

 

He savored the sweet taste of her for a few lingering moments, before pulling back and pressing a tender kiss to her throat again, his mouth slowly working its way down to her shoulder as his hands once more began to slide the loose, flowing skirt down over her hips, catching the cotton fabric of her panties with it and pushing both down as far as he could reach before Tara raised a foot to kick her clothing the rest of the way off.

 

Spike’s hands drifted over her soft curves, as his mouth continued its gradual descent, caressing lovingly down her thigh and inward as he gently laved her breast with his lips and tongue.

 

“Love you,” he murmured between kisses. “Gonna make you…feel so good, Tara…gonna love you…like you’ve loved me…gonna thank you…”

 

Tara gasped softly at the increased sensations that flooded her with the combination of his cool, rough hand on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and the soft, damp caress of his mouth on her breast. One hand fell unconsciously to cup the back of his head, stroking tenderly through his disheveled curls as he gradually moved downward on the bed, gently, tentatively pushing her onto her back as he did so.

 

“Spike…love you…” she whispered breathlessly, her eyes closed and her head falling back as she let herself surrender to the sensations he was creating in her. “Love you…yes…*gah*…feels…so good…”

 

Spike relished her praise, the soft words of encouragement and affirmation she offered him as he did his best to please her, to give her the sort of pleasure she had given him, and to tell her without words how grateful he was for all she had done for him, how grateful he was even to be allowed in her arms, her bed.

 

He felt a sense of satisfaction as he moved to kneel between her legs, his mouth hovering over her sex, aware that this was something he knew how to do, and do well. He knew that he could please her, could make her feel things that many others couldn’t. She was a goddess to him, his savior from the horrors he had experienced, and he would worship her with his mouth, with his body, with any and every part of him she would allow to touch her glory.

 

Tara’s hand on his shoulder stopped him, as she raised her head with an effort to meet his eyes, murmuring, “Spike…wait…come here…”

 

His eyes open and earnest, seeking only to please her, Spike rose and moved up the bed, automatically shifting to the side as he reached her level again. But Tara gently caught him with an arm around his waist, pulling him over on top of her, not allowing him to resume their side by side positions.

 

Spike’s eyes widened with alarm and he tried to pull away, uncomfortable with the position on top of her, unaccustomed to being allowed so much control in a sexual encounter. Buffy never would have permitted him to be on top of her, and a part of him was still terrified of getting caught doing something that was not allowed, and being brutally punished for it.

 

“Shhh,” Tara soothed him, her arm about his waist holding firm, so that he could not roll off to the side without hurting her. “It’s all right. Spike, you’re okay, right here. Okay?”

 

He hesitated, his breath quickening with uncertainty, his eyes downcast and troubled.

 

“It’s all right,” Tara repeated gently. “I *want* you here. You’re not doing anything wrong. Okay? It’s okay for you to be here.”

 

Spike swallowed hard, struggling to bring his subconscious fears under control, focusing on the reassuring sound of her voice, and the words of acceptance she offered him. Finally he nodded slowly, his eyes closed for a moment before she reached a hand out to tip his chin up, gently urging him to look at her.

 

“Wh-what…why did you want me to…?” He hesitated over the question, feeling the cold burn of rejection beginning in the pit of his stomach, in spite of her warm arms around him.

 

In his mind, he had little to offer besides his rather exceptional sexual talents. For Tara to refuse the pleasure he offered her left him feeling confused and uncertain, and terribly insecure.

 

“Because I want you up here…with me,” Tara replied with a smile, her hand under his chin giving a slight push, silently encouraging him to look up at her again. When he reluctantly complied, she explained softly, “You make me feel so good…so special, Spike. I love the way you touch me…the way your hands feel on my skin…but…but I want you to feel just as good, Sweetheart…”

 

Spike shook his head, beginning to protest. “You already made me feel so…”

 

“No,” Tara cut him off firmly, though her eyes shone with her love for him. “I don’t want you as a…a slave, or a toy. I want you as…my partner. My equal. I don’t want you on your knees to me, Spike.” She paused, allowing her words to sink in, never breaking eye contact as she continued, “I want you face to face with me. Yes, I *love* the way you make me feel. But when I’m feeling you…I want you to be feeling me, too. I want us to feel it *together*. Does that…make sense?”

 

Spike’s vision blurred with tears as his heart ached with his gratitude and love for the incredible girl on the bed beneath him. He nodded silently, not trusting himself to speak, as he blinked away the tears to focus on her lovely face. Tara reached a tender hand up to stroke through his hair with affection, then to pull him down for a gentle, searching kiss. Spike responded, gratefully drinking in her love and affection, her warm, salty tears mingling with his on their lips.

 

When Tara pulled away for air, she smiled at him, running her thumb lightly across his lips, Spike smiled back, feeling the heady rush of joy at her unconditional acceptance, the lofty position she had given him in her life that felt like more than he ever could have asked for. He had been made to believe that he would never be good enough to mean that much to anyone; and Tara was offering him everything she had to give.

 

“Spike,” she whispered breathlessly as he shifted slightly, and she felt the hardened evidence of his desire for her pressing against her thigh, “Spike…if you want to be…I want you…inside me…I want to…to…”

 

No one had ever given herself to him so fully before, and it was more than a little overwhelming. Spike hesitated just a moment, before his shaking hands moved to slide his jeans down and push them down his legs, kicking them aside. Only once the jeans had fallen over the edge of the bed did Spike realize that they were still on top of the covers, with nothing on top of them.

 

Naked from the waist down, Spike suddenly felt very vulnerable, his cheeks coloring with an automatic sense of shame at his exposed body, which, as well as being tortured and used by the sadistic Slayer, had also been derided and mocked on a regular basis. His teeth caught the edge of his lower lip as he looked away, swallowing hard.

 

“I…I know I’m not…”

 

“My God,” Tara breathed out, and Spike cringed inwardly at the hushed shock in her voice.

 

Unaware of his momentary crisis, Tara’s wide eyes moved slowly over his body, taking in creamy skin over well-toned muscles, then shifting hesitantly downward to his erect member, hard and smooth and quivering slightly with his need for her. It had been a long time since she had been this close to a naked male, and she had never been with anyone so perfectly formed, so breathtakingly beautiful – male or female.

 

“Do you know how incredibly gorgeous you are, Spike?” Tara whispered, her hand caressing his cheek in a tender gesture as her eyes rose to his face again.

 

He looked up at her sharply in surprise. “Wh-what?”

 

“You’re amazing,” Tara insisted, nodding and giving him an adoring smile. “So…just amazing, Spike. I’m so…so lucky…” As she spoke her free hand trailed slowly down his side, resting low on his hip and stroking slowly back and forth. “I just…just want you so much…Spike…please…”

 

Spike rose up slightly, positioning himself over her in preparation to fulfill her request, his eyes wide with wonder and a bit breathless himself, in awe of what was happening between them. Gently he pushed forward, entering her cautiously, still uncertain as to what she would allow.

 

The moment he felt himself surrounded by her warmth, Spike forgot his reservations, his eyes closing as he let out a moan of pleasure. Tara cried out herself, her hands sliding around him to clutch him closer to her as she gasped for breath.

 

“Spike…gah…*Spike*…”

 

“Tara…love you…love you so much…”

 

 Within a few moments, their bodies had found their natural rhythm, moving together as one as they embraced, shutting out their fears and the troubling matters that had filled their minds for weeks now, holding each other so close that everything around them ceased to exist, and it was only them in all the world.

 

This was *nothing* like it had been with Buffy.

 

Spike savored the sweetness of her soft hands roving over his body, her trembling voice whispering his name in tones of awed passion and affection, as he felt for the first time in his life as if he was an *equal* to the woman he was with, cherished and loved as much by her as he loved her himself.

 

He closed his eyes, covering her throat, her shoulders, her breasts, with tender kisses; the sound of her voice, the feel of her yielding, pliant body beneath his, were constant reminders that these were not the arms of his abuser, this was not the degradation he had been accustomed to, this was not the past…but the horizon of the glorious future Tara was offering him.

 

Spike felt his release approaching, and held her closer to him, the loss of control that had been a fearful thing to him now ceasing to be…because she would ground him. She was there to hold him when he fell, to guard his heart from the monsters lurking just outside the door, ever seeking entrance.

 

She was there with him, and she loved him…and she was his.

 

As they fell together over the edge of oblivion, surrendering to the pleasure they gave each other, Spike and Tara collapsed in each other’s arms, drifting off together into a much needed and dreamless sleep.


	75. Chapter 75

_“There’s something wrong with Buffy. You need to come.”_

 

Those words had broken through the Watcher’s natural hostility, the automatic wall that went up anytime he heard the voice that had spoken them. He wanted as little to do with Angel as possible, soul or no soul, but he could not ignore the urgency in the vampire’s voice, and the pang of fear that struck his heart at the thought that his Slayer was in some kind of trouble.

 

If Angel was desperate enough to call him…it had to be bad.

 

Assured by Angel that there was no time to waste with details, Giles had hung up and called for a cab, then called the airport to arrange to be on the next international flight to L.A. Nearly twenty-four hours later, after a brief layover that felt excruciatingly long to the anxious Watcher, he found himself at the airport in Los Angeles.

 

The city of Angel – and the last place he wanted to be.

 

Arriving at the Hyperion, he briefly considered knocking, but reminded himself that it was a place of business, and there was no need to announce his presence…or show any greater courtesy to the establishment’s owner than was absolutely necessary. He walked into the lobby, a bit taken aback by the large group assembled there…none of whom, he noticed immediately, was his former charge.

 

Some of them he recognized, others were completely unfamiliar. Dawn sat on the strange circular sofa, next to a green-skinned demon of some sort. Giles’ immediate instinct was to rush forward and rescue the girl, but no one else seemed to perceive the creature as a threat, so for the moment, he reluctantly refrained.

 

An unfamiliar but very pretty brunette was behind the reception desk with Anya and Wesley, dutifully studying the rather limited resources which Angel had at his disposal, almost all courtesy of Wesley’s personal collection, no doubt. Willow and Xander sat in chairs near a corner of the room, talking quietly in low, intense tones; they appeared to be arguing.

Everyone looked up at his entrance, and all activity in the room seemed to freeze, as all eyes focused on him in grim, stunned anticipation. Giles wondered uneasily why no one spoke, why the usual affectionate greeting he might have expected from the Scoobies at least was absent...but he didn't have long to wonder.

 

He looked up as motion near the foot of the stairs caught his attention, and his eyes narrowed in an automatic expression of contempt as they fell on the person who had called him there. Angel crossed the room to him, his head lowered in that humble expression he always seemed to wear in front of Giles, since his days as Angeles back in Sunnydale.

 

It didn’t help Giles’ opinion of him. In fact, he found it rather infuriating.

 

“Where’s Buffy?” Giles demanded without preamble.

 

“We’ll get to that,” Angel replied, clearly having expected that sort of greeting. “We need to talk to you before you see her. A lot of strange things have been happening these past few months.”

 

“I won’t talk to you or anyone until I’ve talked to Buffy,” Giles insisted impatiently. “Where is she? What sort of trouble have you gotten her into now?” When it became clear that Angel had no intention of telling him, the Watcher strode boldly past the vampire toward the stairs, muttering angrily, “I’ll find her myself.”

 

“Wait.” Angel caught his arm as he passed, pulling him back around to face him. “You don’t want to go up there.”

 

Giles’ eyes went cold as he stared down at the vampire’s firm hand on his arm, then looked up at him with an icy smile. “And you don’t want to leave your hand on me a moment longer,” he stated, and there was a dangerous tone to his deadly soft voice.

 

With a regretful grimace Angel dropped his hand, and Giles turned back toward the stairs. Before he could take a step, however, Dawn spoke up, rising to her feet, and the sound of her young, trembling voice stopped the Watcher in his tracks. He slowly turned to face her, his expression softening with compassion on her haunted, uncertain eyes, far older than they should have been.

 

“Giles…he’s right,” Dawn told him in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice. “You really *don’t* want to go up there. Trust me. Spike and Tara have been up there for…well, for days, really, at this point.”

 

Giles’ eyes widened at the way her nose wrinkled in distaste and the knowing sound of her voice, making it clear that Spike and Tara had been upstairs for precisely the reason it sounded like. “Tara, and…and Spike?” he echoed in bewilderment, utterly at a loss.

 

Dawn nodded. “Besides,” she added with a little shrug, “Buffy’s not up there.”

 

Giles scanned the room again, taking in the numerous sets of troubled eyes focused on him, and finally lowered his gaze with a weary sigh and a humorless half-smile of resignation. He turned his face back toward Angel, who was still waiting patiently for the Watcher’s decision, not quite meeting the vampire’s eyes as he finally came as close to relenting as he was going to come, his voice quiet and clipped and painfully polite.

 

“Will someone *please* tell me what the bloody hell is going on here?”

 

******************************

 

_“Please…Buffy, don’t…”_

 

_“Shut up. You just keep your stupid mouth shut, do you hear me, Spike?”_

 

The sound of several brutal blows was unmistakable to the Watcher, even through the tinny speakers of the small tape recorder in Angel’s hand. He frowned, troubled by the cold sound of the Slayer’s voice, but not yet willing to admit that the situation was as bad as they were making it sound.

 

“So she’s done a bit of damage to Spike,” he scoffed, shaking his head with a nervous laugh. “He’s a vampire. She can hardly be blamed for the occasional…”

 

“Shut up and listen.”

 

Giles raised an eyebrow at the vampire’s harsh command, but went silent as the voices on the tape continued, Buffy’s cold and frighteningly calm, Spike’s steadily increasing in panic and desperation.

 

_“You’re gonna do what I tell you to do, Spike. If you can’t keep your mouth shut, I’ll just have to help you. Now what did I tell you to do, Baby?”_

 

Giles was not sure which was more upsetting to him, the suggestive tone of Buffy’s voice and her use of intimate terms of endearment toward Spike, or the sheer terror in the vampire’s submissive voice as he replied to her.

 

_“O-open my mouth…please…oh, God, Buffy, please don’t do this…”_

 

“What was she doing to him?” Giles demanded. “Who made this tape? What exactly are you saying has happened, here?”

 

“Just listen,” Dawn interrupted, her voice trembling with pain, and the Watcher looked at her, alarmed to see her face streaked with tears. “It gets worse.”

 

_“Buffy, you wouldn’t hurt her…you wouldn’t hurt Dawn…”_

 

_“Hurt her? Spike…you’ll do what I say…or I’ll *kill* her!”_

 

Horrified, disbelieving, Giles shook his head. “That’s not Buffy. She wouldn’t…she would never threaten Dawn…”

 

“Yeah,” the girl whispered, her voice hoarse with tears. “That’s what *I* thought.”

 

“This has to be some kind of trick…”

 

“It’s not,” Dawn argued, shaking her head. “I was there. It…it was really Buffy. She…she tortured him, and…and she threatened to kill me. To kill…anyone who tried to help him.”

 

Giles frowned in confusion. “Help him…what…what exactly has she been doing to him? *Why* was she torturing him? I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”

 

“None of us do,” Angel sighed, his voice heavy and troubled. “But…there’s someone who was right there, all along…saw it all happening. And…and I think he’s the one you should be talking to…if he’ll talk to you.”

 

*********************************

 

“I think it’ll really help if he hears it first hand. Please, Spike. We need his help, and right now he doesn’t want to give it.”

 

Spike swallowed hard, looking away from Angel from where he sat on the bed, settled comfortably in Tara’s arms. “I…I’m not sure…”

 

“Won’t he listen to *me*?” Tara offered anxiously, glancing between Angel and Spike. She understood Angel’s point, knew that Spike’s first hand testimony of what happened would likely be the most effective method of gaining Giles’ help, but she hated the idea of making the traumatized vampire relive his abusive experience for the benefit of the Watcher who had never liked or trusted him. “I mean…Giles knows me, trusts me. He’ll listen…”

 

“He’ll listen,” Angel conceded with a grim nod. “But that doesn’t mean he’ll believe it. You’re a very kind, compassionate person, Tara. He’ll think Spike just managed to fool you into believing it was worse than it was, or something.”

 

“He heard the tape, right?” Tara frowned.

 

“He says it’s possible it’s a fake.”

 

Spike flinched slightly at the words, a blatant insult, an absolute disparagement of his ordeal and all that he had been through. He drew in a sharp breath, letting it out in a slow, shaky sigh, his eyes downcast. Tara gently pulled him closer to her, reaching out to gently thread her fingers through his in a silently soothing gesture.

 

“Maybe,” she suggested cautiously. “Maybe it’s…a good idea to talk to him, Sweetie…”

 

“He can’t hurt you,” Angel assured him. “I’ll be right here.”

 

“No,” Spike spoke up, his voice trembling slightly. “D-don’t want you…to be here. Don’t want…anyone here.”

 

Angel nodded his acceptance, having already expected as much, but Tara blinked in surprise. She swallowed hard, then slowly began to disentangle herself from Spike, releasing his hand and sliding across the mattress away from him without a word.

 

Spike caught her hand before she could leave the bed.

 

“’Cept you,” he amended in a voice barely over a whisper, as Tara raised questioning eyes to his. He gave her a weak, uncertain smile and a half-shrug as he explained, “Goes without sayin’, love. Want you with me. Always want you with me.” He hesitated before confessing softly, “N-not sure I can do this if you’re not.”

 

Tara’s heart swelled with warmth and a secret pride as she slid back across the bed, resuming her cozy position at Spike’s side. “I’m right here,” she assured him in a hushed, intimate tone of voice. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll be right here, and if he even *begins* to give you a hard time…” Abruptly she turned her piercing gaze on Angel, raising her eyebrows expectantly as she informed him, “…the conversation will be *over*. Is that clear?”

 

Angel smiled, having expected no less from the usually mild-mannered young woman. “Completely. Give me a minute; I’ll send him up.”

 

*********************************

 

When Giles entered the room, Spike and Tara were sitting on the edge of the bed, much less overtly intimate than when Angel had talked to them, but still close enough that their postures, the slight angle of their legs toward each other, and their comfortably clasped hands made the change in their relationship clear to the observant Watcher.

 

Not that he would have had to be very observant to notice the tenderness between the vampire and the witch.

 

“Angel called me,” Giles explained unnecessarily. “He said Buffy’s in some kind of trouble, and yet no one has been able to explain to me exactly what is going on. Apparently, Angel and Dawn both seem to feel that you are the best person to enlighten me on that subject, Spike.”

 

Subdued but calm, Spike nodded. “S’pose that’s true, seein’ as I was there for the whole thing.”

 

“What whole thing?” There was a faint note of exasperation to the Watcher’s voice as he took a seat in the chair beside the bed, folding his hands in front of him and settling back for what promised to be a rather long story. “What is wrong with Buffy?”

 

“That’s one answer I haven’t got for you,” Spike sighed, a barely controlled tremor still audible in his voice.

 

Giles frowned, taking in the nervous sound of his voice, the trembling of his hand as he ran it anxiously through his hair. Tara squeezed his hand, whispering something tender and soothing in his ear, and he nodded his acceptance of her words with a shaky breath. Their intimate manner with each other, as well as Spike’s obviously shaken appearance, set a heavy stone of unease in the pit of Giles’ stomach.

 

He had a feeling that the story was not going to be one he wanted to hear. Still, he sighed in reluctant resignation as he removed his glasses, wiping them slowly as he suggested, “Perhaps you’d better just…start at the beginning.”


	76. Chapter 76

_“You little liar…I ought to kill you right now…but I won’t.” There was mingled pleasure and menace in her soft voice. “You’re too much fun.”_

 

_Hard, hot hands held Spike’s wrists pinned over his head, as the Slayer shifted her body in closer to his, her firm, muscular thigh sliding between his legs to press threateningly against his bare, vulnerable member. He was naked, of course, his body slightly slumped against the cold stone wall of his crypt…and he was being punished._

 

_“Please,” Spike whispered, as one of her hands left his wrists to trail possessively down his side. “Please don’t…”_

 

_The soft hand on his hip became a hard fist that crashed down across his mouth, knocking his head into the wall behind him, before snatching a fistful of his hair and jerking his head back again._

 

_“‘Please don’t’,” she cruelly mimicked his words, releasing his wrists to seize his throat, her thumb digging painfully into the hollow of it as she shifted in closer, whispering in his ear, “I think you’d better keep your mouth shut.”_

 

_His throat was dry with terror, a convulsive swallow painfully restricted by her hand against his neck. Keeping carefully still as Buffy reveled in her power over him, he kept his hands where she had placed them, above his head, not daring to resist as she used her hand at his throat to push him onto his bruised, aching knees._

 

_“Buffy…love, wait…” he rasped out as she released him and stood up straight. “I wasn’t trying to…”_

 

_Her boot impacted brutally with his stomach, silencing his attempt at reasoning with her as she crossed the room to the bed and picked up Spike’s discarded belt. She turned to face him again, as he gasped and choked for breath, struggling to recover from the blow; and the casually suggestive way she played the leather through her fingers sent a shudder of dread down his spine._

 

_She crouched in front of him, running the belt idly down the side of his face, smiling when he flinched, closing his eyes and turning his head away._

 

_“Did you think they’d believe you, anyway?” she asked in a soft, intimate voice that made him feel terribly exposed and vulnerable. “Do you think they’d ever believe *anything* that contradicts with what *I* tell them?”_

 

_Unsure whether or not he was supposed to respond, Spike shook his head slightly. “Please, Buffy,” he whispered. “I wasn’t going to say anything…I didn’t…”_

 

_The belt flew, coming down hard across his groin, and Spike bit back an anguished scream, his hands fisting against the wall as he struggled not to move, not to react defensively and trigger an even more violent reaction from his tormentor. Buffy grabbed his hair again and yanked his head back, her voice deceptively patient and gentle as she continued as if he hadn’t spoken._

 

_“You think they’d *ever* take your side over mine, Spike? You think there’s anything I can do to you that I won’t get away with?”_

 

_Feeling trapped and terrified, desperate to appease her, Spike shook his head, blinking back tears of pain and humiliation. “No,” he whispered. “No, Buffy…”_

 

_“You could tell them everything,” the Slayer continued in that same quiet, intimate voice that was so confusing and frightening. “You could take pictures.” She paused, raising one hand to turn his face back toward her, waiting until he obediently met her gaze to go on. She was smiling as she declared softly, “You could have rock solid evidence to prove it…and I would still walk out of it with them believing that it was somehow all *your fault*. You know that, don’t you, Baby?”_

 

_Spike’s heart sank…because he really did._

 

_He nodded, lowering his gaze, as the tears he had been struggling to hold back fell to dampen his bruised face._

 

_“You open your mouth against me, Spike,” Buffy continued, a note of steel cloaked behind whisper soft affection, “and before I’m finished they’ll be lining up…to stake *you*. Don’t worry, though. I won’t let them.” There was cruel amusement in her voice as she explained, “I’ll wanna punish you myself. Do you understand?”_

 

_Spike nodded, swallowing back a sob, his eyes downcast and glistening with tears._

 

_Buffy stood up straight, the leather belt doubled and hanging from her hand. “Look at me, Baby,” she commanded softly._

 

_The vampire raised wide, fearful eyes to hers…just as the leather belt flew to strike him across the face._

 

*********************************

 

“I’m…not sure when it started, exactly…the…beatings. The…a-abuse…” The word fell from the vampire’s lips with difficulty, his eyes downcast and focused on his hand, trembling and wrapped around Tara’s in her lap. “I guess it…was gradual. Didn’t happen all at once, so I…didn’t rightly notice when, yeah? I mean…Buffy used to hit me before. Ever since the chip, so…so when we started…sleepin’ together, and she didn’t stop…guess I didn’t think much of it…at first…”

 

He stopped for a moment, swallowing hard, struggling for control, and Tara gently squeezed his hand.

 

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “Take your time; nobody’s in a hurry.”

 

Spike did not raise his eyes as he drew in a deep, shaky breath, nodding as he readied himself to continue, then bit his lip and hesitated again. A frustrated frown creased his brow as Tara raised a hand to his cheek, her fingers effectively shielding his gaze, and creating a wall of privacy so that the vampire’s focus was drawn solely to her own eyes.

 

“You’re okay,” Tara whispered. “You can do this. I’m right here.”

 

Not a moment of the brief, tender exchange was lost on the Watcher sitting across from them. He averted his eyes, feeling like an intruder in the intimacy of the scene. Giles was anxious about Buffy, and impatient to hear what Spike had to say, but he simply waited until silence until the vampire appeared ready to go on.

 

“She…used to like to…tie me up,” Spike finally continued, though his voice was low and trembling slightly. “I…didn’t mind at first, but…but after a while…it was all she wanted to do…”

 

Giles grimaced, shaking his head as he interrupted, “I really don’t need to hear about how you involved my Slayer in your sick little games, Spike…”

 

“He’s talking.” Tara’s unusually sharp tone took Giles off guard, and his eyes widened at the stony expression of warning on her face. “Are you gonna listen, or are you gonna leave?”

 

“I…want to listen, Tara, but I don’t see how…”

 

“This is hard enough on him already,” Tara insisted, her eyes blazing with protective fury. “I’m not gonna have you making it harder. This is intensely personal, and frankly none of your business; Spike’s showing a lot of courage to even talk to you about it...so why don’t *you* show a little respect?”

 

The idea of showing respect to Spike was admittedly rather foreign to Giles’ mind, but he *did* respect Tara, and regretted upsetting the kind, mild-mannered girl. In addition, she was clearly very protective of the defenseless vampire, and he was well aware that if he angered her by making Spike feel threatened, he would lose his chance of hearing this first hand account of the recent changes in his Slayer.

 

“I’m…sorry, Spike,” the Watcher replied cautiously, his eyes never leaving Tara’s. “Please do go on. I’ll…stay quiet until you have finished.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

The sheer simplicity of the vampire’s response caught Giles off guard, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. He had expected at the very least a sarcastic response, some little jab to gloat at his minor victory...not quiet, polite gratitude. In the years he had known him, Spike had been neither quiet nor polite.

 

The vampire’s story unfolded in halting, hushed bits and pieces, and Giles found it both horrifying, and next to impossible to believe…if not for the haunted look of fear and desperation in Spike’s wide blue eyes, which never quite met the Watcher’s throughout his speech.

 

Mental and physical abuse of the worst kinds had escalated into sexual abuse, and eventually outright rape and torture, all crimes that Giles might have thought Spike capable of committing…but not Buffy. Never Buffy. Spike’s soft, shameful words painted a violent and vivid picture, but he found it hard to reconcile the images he created with what he remembered of the girl he had trained and mentored for so many years.

 

“I was…in that basement for…for two weeks.” Spike was whispering by the time he finished the story, his voice trembling, and he appeared to be fighting tears. “It…seemed longer. If T-tara and…and Dawn…hadn’t found me…I…she’d have killed me. I know it. Or…or I’d still be there.”

 

Giles looked up at Tara sharply in surprise, wondering just how much the girl had seen, even as his heart sank at the stricken look in her tearful eyes as she stared past him, clearly seeing in her mind a very different time and place.

 

“I saw it, Giles,” she inserted quietly, raising her eyes to meet his. “I saw what she…what she did to him. He’s telling the truth. Dawn…she saw it, too. She saw Buffy installing the padlock on the basement door to keep him there. I saw her threatening and hurting him weeks before that. It’s absolutely confirmed that Buffy did this.”

 

“I…I don’t understand,” Giles admitted, removing his glasses and wiping them nervously with his handkerchief. “This is very difficult to believe, I’m sure you’ll understand. It doesn’t sound like Buffy…”

 

“She’s not the same, since she…came back,” Spike reminded him, still not looking at him. “Something happened to her…part of the spell, p’rhaps, the one that brought her back. Or…or after, maybe…I don’t know. But…but she’s not herself. She’s not the girl I…I fell in love with.”

 

Giles could not help the contemptuous glare those words earned, his lips parted automatically to discount the vampire’s long held claim of love for Buffy, but Tara’s challenging stare intercepted any comment he might have made. Still, Spike caught the brief interplay, and a tight, humorless smile rose to his lips.

 

“Don’t worry, Watcher,” he remarked softly. “I’m bloody well over her by now.” He glanced up at Tara beside him, his smile softening and becoming almost shy as he added, “I’ve moved on.”

 

“I just don’t understand this, Spike.” Giles shook his head, deliberately ignoring the comment, though it *did* give him some cause for relief. “You told me that following Buffy’s return, you discovered that your chip no longer worked on her, yes? Is that correct?”

 

Spike winced, anticipating the question he was leading up to, and nodded silently, his head lowered. “Yeah.”

 

“Then why would you allow things to go as far as you claim they did with Buffy? You could defend yourself against her. Why didn’t you?”

 

Spike opened his mouth as if to respond, his gaze lowered once more to his and Tara’s joined hands, but then he closed his mouth again, shaking his head, at a loss. Tara straightened, leaning in closer to Spike in a subtlely protective gesture, her eyes narrowed as she turned toward the Watcher.

 

“That’s not a fair question, Mr. Giles,” she declared in an accusing tone of voice. “You have no idea of the kind of mind games Buffy’s been playing with him…with everyone. This is *not* Spike’s fault, no matter how badly you might want to make it be!”

 

Giles frowned, uncomfortable with the accusation, despite the fact that he was still quite skeptical about Spike’s story. “I’m in no way attempting to…”

 

“Spike’s told you his story,” Tara cut him off firmly. “He shouldn’t have to explain himself to you. He’s the *victim* here. So unless you have any more questions about the actual *facts*…”

 

“All right, all right,” Giles tried to soothe her, raising one hand in front of him in a gesture of backing off. “Tara, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to cause either of you any further upset. I’m just…trying to understand.”

 

“Don’t bother, love,” Spike murmured, lowering his head against Tara’s shoulder for a moment in weary resignation, raising it again to meet her eyes as she turned toward him in concern. “It’s too much for him to believe, especially from me. We should have known he wouldn’t help, not if it means admitting there’s something seriously wrong with his golden girl…”

 

“Now wait just a minute!” Giles objected, indignant. “I haven’t said I don’t believe you, only that it’s…*difficult*! Surely you can understand that. You’re talking about the girl who’s been like a daughter to me for the past six years! And excuse me for saying so, Spike, but your word has been known to be less than reputable in the past…”

 

“What about mine?” Tara demanded. “You don’t believe me, either?”

 

Giles shook his head, unable to argue her point. “I just…I need to see her. To talk to her. Perhaps it would help me to understand what’s happening if I could simply talk with Buffy and get her perspective on…”

 

“All you’re going to get from her right now is lies,” Tara objected, shaking her head in frustration. “Have you not heard *anything* we’ve been saying?”

 

“No, wait, love,” Spike objected, frowning thoughtfully, and Tara turned her attention toward him again, a questioning expression on her face. “Maybe…maybe it’s the only way he’s gonna get this.” When Tara still looked a little confused, he clarified softly, “If he hears it from her.”


	77. Chapter 77

She made a rather pitiful figure, her shoulders slumped as she sat in the dimly lit cell, her hands in shackles in front of her, enclosed by unyielding iron bars.

 

Definitely unyielding. She had tried.

 

The cage was more than a match, even for Slayer strength; the foot-length of chain that had connected the shackles, on the other hand, had proven to be not so very strong after all, when faced with her consistent efforts to break it. Eventually it gave, though Buffy was careful to keep it positioned so that it appeared to still be intact. She smiled to herself, enjoying the images that filled her mind of how she would use that little “surprise” to her advantage when someone came downstairs.

 

Except…no one came down.

 

So, there was nothing for Buffy to do but sit there on the wooden bench, and wait.

 

And plan.

 

The planning part…that was fun.

 

She allowed her mind to dwell on the many possibilities she had conceived, the countless punishments she wanted to visit upon her rebellious vampire slave. When she got out of this mess – and she would, she was sure – she would make Spike pay for telling their secret…Spike, and Tara, and her bratty, nosy little sister. They would all pay for…

 

“Buffy?”

 

Startled by the familiar voice she had not expected to hear, Buffy rose to her feet, turning toward the sound of his voice. Spike was standing at the foot of the staircase, one hand resting on the railing, fingers clenching and unclenching around it as if he was on the verge of turning and fleeing back up the stairs. His posture was tense and apprehensive, and though he had deliberately called her attention to him, his head was lowered and his eyes averted under her gaze.

 

A slow smile spread across Buffy’s face as she rose to her feet and sauntered toward the front of the cage, her apparently shackled hands in no way hampering the confidence and control in her stride.

 

*This* was going to be fun.

 

“Hey, Baby,” she purred, leaning forward against the bars, her eyes narrowed over a predatory smirk. “Couldn’t stay away?”

 

Spike winced slightly, swallowing hard as he hesitantly dropped his hand from the railing, taking a halting step closer to her.

 

“I…I just…w-wanted to talk to you.” He barely managed to choke the words out as he edged nearer to the cage that imprisoned her. “I…I need some answers, love.”

 

Buffy raised a single brow, a steely glint of anger in her eyes as she echoed, “You *need* some answers? That’s rather demanding of you, isn’t it?”

 

“Please,” Spike whispered, his head dipping lower as he struggled under the weight of her intimidating tone. “I mean…I…I want to know…w-why.”

 

“Why, what?” she sneered. “We’ve already had this conversation, haven’t we, Baby? And I already told you…because you let me. Because you *wanted* it, you little slut! You know you did…and you know I only was able to go so far because *you* never made me stop!”

 

She felt a sense of satisfaction when the vampire flinched at her words, choking back a sob of humiliation and shame as he shook his head in denial. “No,” he whispered. “No, I…you kn-know I didn’t. I told you no, Buffy. I b-begged you to stop…over and over…and you…you f-forced me to…”

 

“Mmmm,” Buffy let out a pleased murmur, her eyes closed as she savored the memories. When he stopped speaking, she opened her eyes, amused at his wide-eyed, stunned expression of horror and disbelief. “What?” she innocently asked. “Please…go on.”

 

Spike just stared at her, stricken with shame and dismay at the obvious pleasure she was taking in his humiliation, and Buffy rolled her eyes before letting out a weary, pained sigh.

 

“*What*?” she demanded. “What do you want from me, Spike? Why did you come down here, anyway? You know I liked it…and you know *you* did, too, whether or not you want to admit it. And you know I’m not gonna say I’m sorry…because I’m not.” Her voice softened in a calculating manner as she went on, “I enjoyed it, Spike. I enjoyed the way you felt under me…struggling…writhing…fighting for your freedom…for your dignity…and knowing that no matter how hard you fought…I was gonna take it from you anyway…”

 

“Stop it…”

 

“What? Isn’t this what you came down here for?” Buffy countered, her voice still frighteningly soft, almost sympathetic. “To be reminded that no matter how hard you fight…no matter how far you try to run…you’re still mine?”

 

“No,” Spike insisted, shaking his head as tears streamed from his eyes. “No…that’s n-not true…n-not anymore…”

 

Something in his voice caught her attention, and her head tilted slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studied his demeanor, the faint glimmer of…something…in his eyes as he met hers for just a moment, before looking away again uncomfortably. Yet, even as he looked away, he raised his head slightly, his jaw steeling with determination, and Buffy saw that he was drawing strength from some recent memory, steadying himself with some comforting thought.

 

She was almost certain it was about Tara…and that thought was infuriating to her.

 

Buffy felt a cold, hard knot settle in the pit of her stomach as she studied the evasive direction of his gaze, the expression that was cautiously blank. As understanding dawned on her, and she realized what was likely the meaning of his words, she felt a fiery, possessive rage come over her, even as her smile widened and her voice grew deceptively softer.

 

“You really *are* a little slut, aren’t you?” she sneered. “Giving it up to the witch already? When we’ve only been apart a matter of days? And then you try to pretend like you didn’t want it, every time we…”

 

“I didn’t!” Spike insisted, his voice trembling as it rose in defensive anger. “Buffy, you *raped* me! I didn’t want you to do those things to me, and you know it! You had no right…”

 

“*You* have no right to screw that dyke whore!” Buffy’s voice became a furious snarl, low and threatening, as she cut him off. “You’re *mine*, Spike! And you let her touch you. Do you know what I’m going to do to you for that? Do you know what I’m gonna do to *her*?”

 

“You’re not going to touch her!” Buffy was surprised to hear the protective anger that rose in the vampire’s voice, his obvious fear momentarily forgotten at the threat to his new lover. “She has nothing to do with this, Buffy. It’s me you want, so leave her out of it!”

 

“I’m going to kill her, Spike. Because she touched you. She touched what’s mine, and I’m going to make her regret it…”

 

“No!” Spike cried out, taking a step toward her in a reflexive reaction. “I don’t care what you do to me; I won’t let you hurt her!”

 

Buffy did not miss the slight motion, and she immediately saw a way to use it for her advantage. “You think you can stop me?” she retorted. “You couldn’t protect yourself from me; how do you think you’re gonna protect Tara? Or Dawn…or any of them, for that matter. I’m gonna kill them all, Spike. They’ve all tried to help you get away from me…and for that, they deserve to die…”

 

“I’m s-stronger now,” Spike insisted, though his voice was still trembling.

 

“Yeah,” the Slayer scoffed. “Sounds like.”

 

“If you try to come near them, I’ll show you.”

 

Buffy raised an eyebrow in challenge at the low certainty in the vampire’s voice, despite its slight tremor. Spike had taken another step toward her, his expression grim as his hands balled into fists at his sides. She glanced at the floor before returning her eyes to his face, noting with some satisfaction that he was only a few short yards away from the yellow line painted on the floor…the line that indicated how close someone could safely get to the cage while a particularly dangerous prisoner was locked inside.

 

And she took pride in the fact that she was likely the most dangerous prisoner the cage had ever held.

 

“You’ll show me what, Spikey?” she goaded him, her eyes dancing with malicious mirth. “Show me how you can cringe and beg and plead for mercy while I’m beating Tara to death?”

 

“No…!”

 

“Maybe I’ll tie her down first, too. Maybe I’ll tie her down and give her a taste of what you got all those months; how does that sound?” Buffy sneered, her eyes darting back and forth between the anguished face of the vampire she was tormenting, and the ever decreasing distance between his feet and the painted yellow line. “Bet she’d like it just as much as you did, Spike…she likes girls best, anyway, right?”

 

She smirked when Spike flinched, pleased that her barbed words had hit their intended target.

 

“I…I d-don’t…I mean…”

 

“You *have* thought about that, haven’t you? You think she slept with you out of anything besides pity?” she continued, latching onto the obviously vulnerable area and digging her vicious claws in deeper. “She’s gay, Spike! She’s not *attracted* to you! She feels *sorry* for you!” She paused, giving her words time to sink in before she added in a softer voice, “On the inside…she’s probably as disgusted by you as I am.”

 

His voice was barely audible, not even a whisper. “Stop it…please…”

 

“How hard do you think it was for her to keep from vomiting while your hands were all over her? While your cold, disgusting, filthy prick was…”

 

“*Stop it*!” Spike cried out, advancing a few steps farther, anguished rage in his shaking voice, his fists clenched at his sides, but rising slightly.

 

“She’ll have a much better time when *I’m* playing with her, Baby,” Buffy went on as if he had not spoken, relishing the torment evident in every facet of his posture as she pushed him farther, well aware that by pushing him, she was luring him nearer and nearer to her grasp. “But if you’re really good…I might let you watch.”

 

“I’ll bloody kill you before I’ll let you touch her!” Spike exploded, striding toward the cage, one fist raised to strike…but stopping just short of the yellow line. “They’re not gonna let you out of here, Buffy, and even if they do, I *won’t* let you touch her!”

 

Buffy did not miss the sudden lack of a stutter in the vampire’s voice as his protective instincts for the blonde witch rose up within him, and it only served to further infuriate her…but she ignored it for the moment. She had bigger plans at the moment than merely punishing him for his defiance.

 

There would be plenty of time for that later.

 

“What about Dawnie?” she mused, edging closer to him, pressing her body against the bars and looking him up and down with a smirk as she delivered the final blow. “Think she could use a little bit of an education?”

 

Spike’s eyes widened with horror. “No!” he protested, a warning growl in his voice as he lunged toward her, his fist raised…crossing the line. “I’ll kill you first…”

 

His words were choked off as her right hand darted between the bars, grasping his left wrist and twisting, using her superior strength to spin him around and yank him backward, cracking his head against the bars hard. While he was still dazed from the blow, she raised her hands together and looped the length of chain between them around his throat, pulling it taut and crossing her own wrists behind his head to hold it there.

 

She smiled, savoring the sensation of power as Spike struggled for breath, his shaking hands scrabbling at the chain digging into his throat in a frantic attempt to get free. With malicious glee she jerked the chain tighter, cutting off his breathing completely, as she leaned in close, whispering in his ear from behind him.

 

“Knew I’d get you back like this, Baby…helpless…at my mercy…knew it was only a matter of time…”

 

Her soft gloating only served to increase his panic – and her pleasure – as Spike fought to free himself, trying to kick backwards at her through the bars, his hands still clawing at his own throat in a desperate attempt to draw breath. Buffy shot out her own foot, hooking her ankle around his and forcing his leg against the bars on the inside of the cell, pinning it and increasing his feeling of being trapped.

 

Transferring both ends of the chain to one hand, keeping it painfully tight, Buffy trailed the back of her other hand down the side of his face, relishing his shudder of fear and revulsion at her touch.

 

“You’re still mine, Spike,” she reminded him in a cruel whisper, leaning in to softly kiss the back of his neck, along the line of his shoulder. “You always will be…”

 

“That’s enough!” She looked up in surprise to see Angel and Tara at the base of the stairs, most of the rest of the group on their heels, making their way down the stairs. “Let him go!”

 

As she spoke, Tara rushed forward, eyes wide with alarm.

 

Buffy jerked the chain tighter with one hand, her other hand snaking out through the bars to wrap around Spike’s waist, holding him back against the cage. “One more step, you little witch bitch, and I’ll take his head off, and don’t think for a *second* that I can’t!”

 

Tara froze in her tracks as Spike winced in pain, the thin metal chain biting into the pale skin of his neck.

 

“What do you think you’re gonna do?” Buffy crowed, enjoying the position of power she held, in spite of her captivity. She had not expected to be caught, but she could still use the situation to her advantage. “You all care so much what happens to him? It’ll take me all of two seconds to kill him, so you’d all better just keep the hell away!” She paused, momentarily reconsidering before amending, “Except whichever one of you rejects has the key to this cage. Whoever you are, *you* can come forward. *Now*!” she snarled when no one moved quickly enough for her liking, jerking Spike’s head back against the bars hard enough that an audible crack resounded through the basement.

 

“That would be me,” Angel admitted, his expression grim and angry. He was clearly frustrated by the standoff, but he made no move to approach the cage.

 

“Well, get over here and open it, then,” she ordered with a cold smile.

 

As she did, she dragged her hand across Spike’s stomach, her smile widening as his already taut muscles clenched under her invasive touch, and he lowered one hand in an attempt to stop her. She jerked the chain around his throat again, and he instinctively returned his hand to his throat as she trailed her hand down his stomach toward his groin, her fingertips playing teasingly around the low waistband of his jeans.

 

She kept her voice calm and even as she whispered into his ear, without taking her eyes from the assembled group of would-be rescuers, “You try to push me away again, Baby…and I’ll snap your wrist. In fact, you’d better just hold still completely, or I’ll take your head right off. Is that clear?”

 

Spike hesitated just a moment, and Buffy felt a strange cold fear in the pit of her stomach, as she wondered for one wild, disbelieving moment if he was going to defy her. Then, he nodded hurriedly, his hands at his own throat going still, his struggles ceasing.

 

“That’s it,” she whispered in a falsely soothing voice which barely served to mask her own momentary anxiety. “Good boy.” She raised her voice slightly, still looking at Spike as she sharply demanded, “Angel! Get over here!”

 

She looked up again, carefully watching for any sign of the tranquilizer gun the older vampire had carried the last time he had descended the basement stairs.

 

It was in his hand.

 

“Not a smart move, *Lover*,” she snarled, twisting the fist that clenched around the ends of the chain, and Spike’s expression twisted as well into a mask of agony as the sharp metal bit into his flesh. “Think you can find a way to shoot me right through him before I dust him?”

 

“Don’t have to,” Angel muttered, taking aim with the rifle and firing without hesitation.

 

The dart flew from the muzzle of the rifle…and plunged into the chest of her vampire hostage.

 

Buffy was taken off guard as Spike’s body slumped bonelessly in her hands, throwing her slightly off balance as his feet fell from under him and he would have collapsed to the floor, if not for the chain around his neck…which was moments from actually beheading him, with the full weight of his body pulling downward against it.

 

And for all her threats, Buffy did *not* want that.

 

She released the ends of the chain, stumbling back as her more or less human shield fell away, leaving her exposed to Angel’s next shot. Anger and frustration filled her as she snarled at her former love, “You missed, moron!”

 

“No,” Angel argued, shaking his head slightly with a small, tight smile. “I really didn’t.”

 

As he held the weapon trained on the Slayer, Tara rushed forward, grabbing Spike’s limp arms and pulling him out of Buffy’s reach, to a safe spot, several feet from the wide yellow line. Buffy glared at her resentfully, feeling hot rage welling up in her chest at the sight of the blonde’s gentle hands on what was *hers*.

 

“Don’t touch him,” she snarled. “He’s *mine*…”

 

“Not anymore,” Tara muttered without looking at her, all of her concerned attention focused on Spike.

 

Even through her anger at the witch’s presumption, Buffy could not help but feel a small sense of satisfaction when she noticed that the vampire’s neck was bleeding where the chain, propelled by her supernatural strength, had sliced into his flesh.

 

“Buffy, what did you think you were going to accomplish?” Angel questioned. “Did you really think we’d let you out?”

 

“He’s the one that came down here,” Buffy reminded him with a careless shrug. “I was just taking the opportunity as it came. If you ask me, it was a pretty stupid move on *his* part.”

 

As she spoke, Angel moved to help Tara lift Spike off the floor, and the group moved almost as one toward the stairs, quiet and subdued now that the dramatic scene was over. Buffy frowned, confused, as they all moved up the stairs, ignoring her words.

 

“Hey!” she protested, irritated at their dismissive manner. “I wasn’t finished yet!”

 

Her eyes went wide with stunned horror as the crowd moved away up the stairs – leaving a single figure standing on the basement floor, staring at her through cool, impassive blue eyes. Her heart lurched in her chest, and she had the old but deeply familiar feeling of a young child, caught by a parent in some act of disobedience.

 

“Actually,” her Watcher replied softly to her words. “I’m quite sure you are.”


	78. Chapter 78

“Giles. Wh-what…what are you doing here?”

 

The Slayer’s eyes were wide, stunned, a trapped expression of guilt on her face as she took an involuntary step backward, away from her Watcher standing at the foot of the stairs. She shook her head in dismay, unable to accept the fact that her darkest behavior had been exposed to the one ally she might have had left.

 

“Angel called me,” Giles replied, his voice soft and calm, his expression inscrutable. “He told me there was something wrong…but I had no idea how very wrong it was. Not until I saw it for myself.”

 

“Giles,” Buffy protested, waving a dismissive hand in his direction, “it’s just *Spike*. I haven’t hurt anyone…not really. This whole thing has just been blown out of proportion…”

 

“This isn’t about ‘just Spike’,” Giles countered, a trace of anger beginning to show through his careful composure. “I heard the threats you made just now, against Tara, and against your own sister…and every word you said was both vile and repugnant.” He paused, staring at her in barely veiled horror and pain, before adding softly, “How could you possibly have slipped to this level? What possibly could have gotten into you, that you would…?”

 

“It was all just words!” Buffy insisted, her voice rising, trembling with an edge of panic. “I wasn’t ever going to *do* anything…I was just trying to…to scare him into taking back this ridiculous lie he’s told everybody about me! I never did anything to him! He just made the whole thing up, and I just wanted to convince him to tell the truth!”

 

“I *heard* it, Buffy!” Giles snapped, his patience failing him with her continued lies. “From your own lips! You were talking about the horrific things you’ve done to him, using them to torment him again.” He fell silent for a moment, visibly struggling to reign in his temper, before adding in a quiet, terse voice, “I didn’t want to believe it. Tara and Spike told me, but I didn’t want to think you were capable of such atrocity. That’s why I…I had to see it, with my own eyes…hear it for myself.”

 

“He’s *lying*!” Buffy nearly screamed, her temper getting the better of her as she rushed the bars, the chain dangling from her wrist clattering noisily against them. “How can you believe him over me? After everything we’ve been through…everything I’ve *done* for you? How could you ever believe him over me? He’s a *vampire*, Giles! If I’d *killed* him, I’d just be doing my duty! And yet you’re taking *his* side?”

 

“I wouldn’t be…if you hadn’t shown him to be telling the truth.”

 

Buffy was silent, having no response for the simple truth. She had given herself away with her own actions, and there was no way to take it back now. She stared sullenly at her Watcher for a long moment, a challenge in her blazing emerald eyes. Then, slowly, a cruel smirk spread across her face, the tension in her expression fading away as she let out a low, malicious laugh.

 

“Fine,” she sneered quietly. “You caught me. I’ve been a really bad girl. So what are you gonna do to me? Ground me? Give me a spanking?” She paused, her eyes narrowing in a calculating expression as she suggested, “Slay me?” The horrified expression in Giles’ eyes was clearly gratifying to her, as her smile widened in satisfaction. “I’m still the Slayer…the *original* Slayer. I’ve come back from the dead. Twice. I’ve taken on a hellgod and won. As that pathetic excuse for a vampire just found out…I *never* lose.”

 

Giles’ face fell with a sort of muted grief as he listened to her defiant speech. When she was finished, he waited a moment before he softly countered, “You just did.”

 

****************************************

 

“Careful…help me lay him…there we go…”

 

Tara anxiously hovered as Angel and Gunn gently laid the unconscious vampire down on his bed. Tara had refused to let go of Spike, insisting on helping Angel get him as far as the lobby; but once they reached the lobby and realized that there were no furnishings there that were at all appropriate, she had allowed Gunn to take over, acknowledging that her physical strength was fading with the effort of supporting Spike’s considerable weight.

 

As she stood there, catching her breath, Tara allowed her guilty thoughts to wash over her.

 

_She wasn’t supposed to be able to touch him…she was supposed to be chained up…he was supposed to be safe…how could I let her get her hands on him again, after I promised him she’d never touch him again?_

 

She hesitated at the base of the stairs, fighting back tears, her heart sinking with dread at the thought of facing her lover, of seeing the hurt and betrayal in his eyes. She could not help but wonder about what sort of terrible effects the events of the past half hour might have on Spike’s fragile, barely healing psyche…and their newly fledged relationship.

 

_He was only just beginning to trust again…and now, after we let this happen…after *I* let this happen... She could have killed him. I promised him he’d be safe, and she almost killed him…_

 

Her heart pounded with adrenaline born of a mixture of fear and relief, as she hurried up the stairs to catch up with Angel and Gunn. She waited until they had set him down on the bed, then sat on the edge of the bed beside Spike, who was already beginning to stir. She raised an eyebrow in Angel’s direction, glancing between him and Spike.

 

“Maybe you’d better check those tranquilizer darts,” she suggested flatly. “They don’t seem to work very well.”

 

“I used a smaller dosage,” Angel explained a bit defensively. “I knew I was gonna be aiming for Spike, so…”

 

“You *knew*…?” Tara’s eyes widened in stunned disbelief, and the tone of her voice was not without accusation. “You…how could you…I thought you brought it down there to subdue Buffy…” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head, bewildered. “I…I don’t understand…”

 

“You…you didn’t know?” Angel seemed genuinely confused, as Tara searched his dark, questioning gaze. When she shook her head in denial, the vampire continued, his voice hushed and gentle. “Spike planned this, Tara. All of it…”

 

“I know, but…but he couldn’t have guessed…couldn’t possibly have known that she would…”

 

“He planned *all* of it,” Angel reiterated, holding her gaze and nodding slowly to be sure she understood. “And it *all* went according to plan.”

 

***************************************

 

“What are you talking about, I just lost?” Buffy sneered, incredulous. “Did you see the look on his face? He was terrified! He might think he’s all big and brave, coming down here to face the monster that beat him the last time…except all he accomplished was to get beat again!”

 

“All he accomplished was exactly what he set out to accomplish,” Giles corrected, a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes despite the pain of the situation. “He set out to prove to me that his story was true. And unfortunately…he did.” He hesitated a moment, before continuing quietly, regret and anguish in his voice. “I…I don’t understand, Buffy. What made you want to do those things to Spike? What caused you to turn your back on everything you were…everyone you loved?”

 

“Go ask Angel,” she retorted, disgust in her voice. “We already had this conversation.”

 

“You are the greatest Slayer there has ever been, Buffy,” Giles reminded her, his expression solemn and earnest. “You accomplished things no other Slayer ever has…lived longer than any other Slayer on record…and for it to all come to this end…to see you…*destroy* the potential you had…” He shook his head, his voice trailing off as he shook his head, blinking back tears.

 

“What potential?” Buffy spat the words back at him, anger rising in her voice, her eyes blazing with accusing rage. “I was *dead*! And they brought me back! My *potential* should have been over years ago!”

 

“That’s what this is about, then? You wished them to leave you in peace?”

 

Buffy did not respond, turning her back abruptly on her Watcher and pacing to the far side of the cage.

 

“I can understand that, Buffy. I could even understand if you chose to exact some form of vengeance on those responsible for your resurrection. But…but Spike…and Dawn…the only two among them who had nothing to do with the matter…what purpose could you possibly have in harming them? Why would you do it?”

 

Buffy remained turned away from him for a few moments longer, before she slowly turned to face him…and the cold smile on her pretty lips sent a chill down the Watcher’s spine.

 

“Why?” she echoed. “That’s an interesting question…and one that everybody keeps asking me.” She shrugged slightly as she explained, “It’s simple, really. Someone told me something a long time ago…something about how a Slayer’s life could be. You see…I’m the one you all depend on. I’ve saved all of your pathetic lives so many times…and it’s because *I’m* the one with the power.”

 

Giles felt his heart drop with a cold sense of horror at the inhuman glitter of malicious pleasure in Buffy’s eyes, as she echoed words she had repeated to him once before, a long time ago…though the first time she had recounted them, her voice had been one of disapproval and confusion. Now, she seemed to have not only accepted the words, but made them her own motto.

 

“ ‘Want…take…have…’ That’s what Faith told me, way back then…and she was right.”

 

“No.” Giles shook his head sadly. “She wasn’t. You should have learned that by watching what happened to her, Buffy. If she’d have submitted to her calling…her duty…”

 

“But I *did*, Giles.” Buffy’s voice was soft, her eyes angry and accusing. “I did my duty…more than my duty. I should have been at peace long ago. I shouldn’t even be here now. I should be enjoying the reward for my long years of risking my life protecting innocents. But I’m not. That was stolen from me. So the way I see it…” She shrugged. “…I’m on my own time now. I can do whatever I want…*whoever* I want…and I will…”

 

“Buffy…” Giles’ voice was heavy with sorrow, trembling with unshed tears. “…my dear girl…how can I help you? How can I bring you back from the brink of this madness?”

 

“You really don’t get it, do you?” the Slayer sneered, no trace of sympathy in her cold eyes for the man who loved her like a daughter. “It’s too late. No one can help me…and I don’t want to be helped.” She glanced up the stairs, her arms crossed over her chest as she added in a derisive, taunting tone of voice, “You ought to see about helping that pathetic excuse for a vampire upstairs. He’s gonna need a couple hundred hours of therapy after our last encounter…which *won’t* be our last encounter, I can promise you that!”

 

Giles considered for a moment, his expression carefully calm as he composed himself, then allowed a slight, ironic smile to play about the corners of his mouth. Still, no trace of humor reached his solemn eyes as he argued, “No, Buffy…I really don’t think he will.”

 

The Slayer raised a single perfectly shaped brow in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? You *did* see him, didn’t you? He was a wreck! It’s really sad, actually. He keeps coming down here, thinking he’s going to somehow find the strength to face his fears…” She put an exaggerated note of drama into her voice as she went on, “…and all he accomplishes is to prove to himself again that he’ll *never* get over me. In one way or another, as long as he lives…he’s gonna be under my control. I can play him like no one else can, Giles…and he knows it.”

 

“I see…” Giles’ voice was mild as he removed his glasses, wiping them methodically before returning them to his face and meeting Buffy’s eyes appraisingly. “And how well can he play you?”

 

Buffy’s eyes narrowed, her gleeful smile fading away. “What are you talking about? He can’t…”

 

“He just did.”

 

“You’re out of your mind,” Buffy protested, her voice trembling with defensive anger. “I got him right where I wanted him in two seconds flat. I talked him right into my hands, and would have killed him right there if Angel hadn’t interfered.”

 

“Would you have? Then why didn’t you?” Giles demanded calmly. When she did not respond immediately, he suggested, “Perhaps because you were not as much in control of the situation as you perceived yourself to be.”

 

“I’m perfectly. In. Control.” Buffy bit off the words, visibly struggling to rein in her anger as her white knuckles clutched the bars of her cage.

 

“Perhaps now,” Giles conceded. “But then…Spike was the one in control. He arranged the whole scenario, Buffy. From the moment he set foot in this basement, he knew what to say to get the reaction he needed from you…”

 

“You’re crazy! I know him better than he knows himself! I knew just what to say to get him to come closer to me…to get him to…”

 

“He *wanted* you to get your hands on him,” Giles snapped, losing patience with her arrogance. “He planned it so that I would see for myself what you’ve become. Every step he took nearer to you was a step he had *planned* to take. He knew exactly where he would be and when you would grab him…and despite his own fears he not only went through with such a dangerous plan but *composed* it to begin with!”

 

As Buffy stared at him, incredulous, shaking her head slowly in bewildered disbelief, Giles continued, his voice calm once more. “Perhaps while you were getting to know him…‘better than he knows himself’…you ought to have taken care for how well he was getting to know you as well.”

 

Without another word, Giles turned and headed up the stairs.

 

“Wait! Giles!” Buffy screamed, enraged by his words, and the possibility that they might be true. “Wait! I’m not finished!”

 

When he did not respond, the Slayer shook the bars of her cage, letting out an animalistic snarl of fury and frustration as she shouted threats up the stairs at her Watcher, and the others waiting for him at the top of the stairs.

 

“You tricked me! I thought you were my friends…I thought you loved me, but you *lied* to me and you tricked me! Dawnie? Spike? *Spike*! I’ll kill you, you…you traitors! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you all!”

 

**********************************

 

Spike moaned softly, one shaky hand flying up to his bleeding neck as his brow furrowed in pain and remembered fear. He was hovering between sleep and wakefulness, while Tara waited patiently beside him for the tranquilizer to wear off completely. Angel and Gunn had left her alone with him.

 

She raised a gentle hand to brush his brow, her other hand reaching out to clasp his as he began to awaken. “Shhh…it’s all right,” she reassured him. “It’s over…you’re safe now.”

 

The sound of her voice seemed to galvanize the vampire to action. His eyes opened wide and he stared up at her, looking a bit lost, gasping for breath as his free hand clutched at his injured throat, almost as if still feeling the biting chain that had cut off his breath.

 

“It’s okay,” Tara reminded him, her hand at his brow shifting backward to tilt his head up so that he could meet her eyes. She held his gaze, trying to ground him, as she assured him, “It’s over…you can breathe, Spike…it’s all right.”

 

Spike stared up at her, his breathing gradually evening out, and finally he lowered his trembling hand back to the bed, steadying himself as he sat up, then reaching out to clutch her other hand as well.

 

“Buffy?” he asked, still sounding a bit breathless.

 

“Still in her cage,” Tara confirmed with a nod. “Alive,” she added as an afterthought. “Unfortunately.”

 

“Anybody…anybody hurt?”

 

Tara raised an eyebrow at him in a slight accusation. “Besides you? No.”

 

“And…and the Watcher?” Spike’s voice became low, and he glanced away from her uncertainly, though he no longer seemed afraid. “He…he heard it…saw it all?”

 

“He did.” Tara swallowed hard, drawing in a deep breath, trying to decide what she wanted to say. “Spike…” she began at last.

 

“I know,” the vampire cut her off in a soft, subdued voice, though Tara noticed a quiet strength behind his words that had been long buried by the trauma of the abuse he had endured. “It was bloody stupid of me to let her get that close. Soddin’ ignorant to take that kind of risk. I know it was. I just…just didn’t know if he’d believe it if he didn’t…see it for himself, yeah? I just wanted to…to be sure…”

 

“Spike…”

 

“I had to make him see, so he’d help us…’cause he might be the only one capable of gettin’ through to her, if anyone can, and I know it was a chance, but I had to take it, love. I just…”

 

“*Spike*.”

 

The vampire finally stopped, looking up at her apprehensively, though Tara noted with pride that there was no apology in his eyes. She gave him an encouraging, approving smile as she raised a hand to his cheek, her smile widening when the gesture was met without even the slightest hint of a flinch. Spike raised his own hand to cover hers, his brow creasing in a silent question as he waited for her to go on.

 

“That was…the most amazingly brave…courageous thing…I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

 

His eyes widened with wonder at Tara’s words, and he shook his head slightly in automatic denial.

 

“No, Spike…really. You didn’t have to take it that far…didn’t have to let her touch you again…but you did. You were willing to take that chance…and you were absolutely amazing.”

 

Spike’s wide, bewildered eyes followed hers downward, focusing on her full, slightly parted lips as she leaned in to brush against his in a tender kiss. It only took him an instant to respond, his hands reaching up to take her arms and pull her in closer to him, his mouth searching hers, first tentatively, then more intently as they gave themselves over to each other. After a moment, Tara drew back for breath, her eyes shining with pride and desire as she whispered a breathless endearment before leaning in for more.

 

“My hero…”


	79. Chapter 79

Dawn glanced anxiously toward the basement stairs, a dry swallow visible in her throat, before she let out a heavy, shaky sigh and sat down on the sofa in the lobby. From across the room, the green empath demon noticed her actions, and crossed to where she sat. In perfect mimicry, he echoed her sigh and threw himself down dramatically on the sofa beside her.

 

Dawn gave him a dubious look, a single eyebrow raised in question.

 

“Gotta say, Sugar Plum, you don’t even have to sing for me to know that you’re either scared silly or bored stiff…and neither one is a good look for you.” Lorne paused before adding in a slightly softer tone, “Though my money’s on option number one. Am I right?”

 

Dawn bit her lip as she looked toward the stairs again, her blue eyes huge in her pale, heart-shaped face. After a moment, she nodded in reluctant admission. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I just…I wonder what Giles is gonna say.”

 

“I’m sure he’ll be able to come up with some answers,” Lorne assured her, reaching out a hand to give hers a supportive pat and a little squeeze. “Nobody knows your sister as well as he does, Cupcake. If anybody can figure out how to help her, it’ll be her Watcher.”

 

“Somehow…that doesn’t help much,” Dawn confessed with an apologetic little grimace. “I mean…what if he _can’t_ find the answers? What if he comes out here and says that there’s nothing we can do? Where do we go from there?”

 

Lorne opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the shaken girl went on, her voice softening, trembling as she continued.

 

“And what if he says…what if he says we _can_ help her?” When Lorne just looked at her, shaking his head slightly to indicate his confusion, she clarified in a voice of helpless frustration and fear, “What if we manage to make her right again…to turn her back into…into _Buffy_ …what then? Where do we go from there?”

 

Understanding filled the scarlet eyes of the demon, and he nodded slowly, sympathetically, turning his face forward as he considered the question.

 

“I mean…after the things she’s done…the horrible things she’s said…to me…to _Spike_ …how are we supposed to go on, talking to her…just _looking_ at her, every day, and knowing what she did to us? How can things ever be like they were again?”

 

“They can’t, Pumpkin.” Lorne sighed as he gave her his honest reply. “Too much has changed, and you won’t ever be able to go back. But…but things _can_ get better. Given enough time, and healing…it might not feel like it now, but if we can get Buffy back to her old self again, things can be made right. Not the same, never the same…but _right_.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Dawn sighed. “That’s a pretty big ‘if’. She’s gone absolutely psycho. What if there’s no way to fix her?”

 

“You can’t give up, Sweetie Pie,” Lorne insisted. “You’ve gotta hold on, can’t think that way. There’s always hope…”

 

“I believe there may well be no hope for the girl.”

 

Dawn rose to her feet and whirled around to face the Watcher in a single fluid motion, troubled eyes full of alarm focused on his face as he stepped off the stairs and into the lobby. Giles froze just past the doorway, dismay in his eyes as he saw Dawn. Seated, she had been outside his range of vision, and he had not realized that she was in the room at all.

 

Cursing his own carelessness, he fell silent, steeling himself as she urgently approached.

 

“Giles…what do you mean, there’s no hope?” There was a quiet, trembling desperation in her voice as she stopped a bare foot in front of him, searching blue eyes gazing up into his pleadingly. “What’s wrong with her? Can’t we fix it?”

 

Giles hesitated, unsure how to answer her questions. The words he had planned for the adults in the room were a great deal more brutally honest than he wished to be with this sweet, trusting girl who was nearly as much a daughter to him as Buffy herself. He reached out a steadying, compassionate hand to gently hold Dawn’s arm, his other hand rising to her cheek in a gesture of fatherly affection and comfort.

 

“Dawn…I can’t know anything for certain…not just yet. I was simply…frustrated by my conversation with your sister, as she was not cooperative with any of my attempts at actual communication. I must confess, my dear, I’m very nearly as much at a loss right now as to what might be wrong with her as I was when I went downstairs.” Giles paused, studying her expression cautiously, trying to gauge whether or not she was believing his attempted recant. “Please,” he added gently, “pardon my thoughtless words. They were spoken in anger and haste, and not in any way a…a definite conclusion.”

 

Dawn gave him a brave smile, her eyes unreadable as she slowly pulled away from him, backing up a step as she nodded her acceptance of his words. “Okay…I just…what are we going to do, then?”

 

“I’m afraid it falls to research,” Giles admitted with an apologetic smile. “As usual. I promise you, Dawn, we’ll do our best to find out what it is that’s wrong with Buffy, and help her if at all possible.”

 

Dawn nodded again, swallowing hard, and the smile on her face seemed a little too bright, too hopeful, as she looked away from the Watcher’s face and crossed her arms over her chest with a heavy sigh.

 

“I’m gonna…go check on Spike and Tara…”

 

Giles nodded encouragingly, clearly pleased and relieved by her decision. “I think that’s a very good idea…”

 

“…so you guys can go ahead and discuss my sister and how there’s no way to help her, without worrying about my delicate, childish ears.”

 

Without waiting for a response from any of the silent, dumbfounded adults who stared after her, Dawn made her way quickly up the stairs, hurrying toward the bedroom Spike and Tara shared. She knew that there was no way Giles was going to be honest with her, not when the news about her sister was as bad as she suspected.

 

_If they’re not going to tell me the truth anyway, I’d rather be with people I know will be honest with me…instead of sitting here with all of them staring me and just wishing I was out of the room so they could talk about it…_

 

She hesitated outside the door to the bedroom, a slight smirk forming on her lips in spite of her troubled heart as she wondered briefly if she was going to be interrupting anything. Tara and Spike seemed to be spending more and more time alone lately, as their bond began to deepen…not that Dawn minded in the least.

 

*******************************

 

Spike and Tara lay on the bed in each other’s arms, utterly lost in the moment and unaware of the drama that was taking place downstairs. Amazingly, his close call with Buffy in the basement had left Spike feeling more exhilarated than frightened. He had planned the entire encounter, and all had fallen into place according to his plan – and now he remembered something she had stolen from him a long time ago.

 

She could lose.

 

He had set out to play her, to manipulate her into the responses he desired – and it had worked.

 

The thrill of his regained power only served to increase his excitement as Tara kissed him with a soft, quiet intensity that was awakening a fresh need within him. When he pressed forward, returning her kiss, Tara placed a single, gentle hand at the back of his head, guiding him down with her as she lay down on her back on the bed.

 

This time, the idea of lying on top of her did not seem so foreign and unsettling to him. Spike ran his hands hungrily up and down her sides as he deepened the kiss, cherishing the silken feel of her skin beneath his fingertips as he pushed up the hem of her blouse to caress her.

 

  
_My hero_ , she had said…and each word made his heart sing in its own individual way.

 

He was _hers_ …and the admiration in her voice, her eyes, was undeniable.

 

“Tara,” he murmured against her lips, drawing back only enough to allow her to draw breath. “Tara…love you…”

 

The simple words of affection drew a smile to her lips. Her eyes closed for a moment as her head fell back against the pillow, then opening again as she returned his words, holding his gaze with a piercing, intimate look that left no doubt as to her sincerity.

 

“I love you, Spike…more than I’ve ever…ever loved anyone…”

 

His heart soared with the thrill of hearing those words, and he leaned in for another kiss, his hands shifting along her sides and edging beneath the hem again…

 

“Knock, knock!”

 

An abrupt rapping sound immediately followed the words called out from the other side of the bedroom door, as if the words themselves were not clear enough and the speaker had to illustrate them with her actions. Spike rolled over onto the bed beside Tara with a soft sigh of frustration, as Tara hastily sat up against the headboard of the bed, straightening her blouse and running a hand through her disheveled hair.

 

“Who is it?” she called out breathlessly. She recognized Dawn’s voice, but was simply stalling for time before allowing the girl to enter.

 

Of course, Dawn picked up on her ruse, and Tara and Spike could almost hear the raised eyebrow she was surely wearing in her voice, as she replied, “Um…Dawn? Come on, like you two don’t recognize my voice by now! When you’re not too distracted, anyway…”

 

“Come in, Bit,” Spike cut her off before she could say anything more.

 

Dawn immediately opened the door and entered the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking in the sight of her friends – breathless and bedraggled and very clearly nervous and self-conscious.

 

“See? Fat lot you know. Us just sittin’ here, all decent and everything…just talkin’…but you’ve gotta assume that if we’re up here with the door closed, it means we’re…”

 

“Shagging like bunnies?” Dawn concluded for him, her mouth forming a teasing smirk as she gave them a slow, deliberate once-over look. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

 

“We weren’t! Really!” Tara insisted, a nervous laugh escaping her lips, blushing furiously.

 

Dawn just stared at her for a long moment, making it quite clear just how convincing she thought they were. Finally, when it became obvious that they were not going to convince her, Tara sighed and amended her words.

 

“Yet.”

 

“I knew it,” Dawn crowed, reaching out to give Tara’s shoulder a gentle push. “Not that I mind. I just like giving you guys a hard time.”

 

“So…any news yet?” Spike asked, a nervous swallow following the calm question the only indication of his anxiety. “What’d the Watcher say?”

 

“Absolutely nothing in front of the ‘delicate ears of the child’,” Dawn replied, the last few words spoken in a dreadful imitation of a stuffy British accent. “Because it’s not like I didn’t hear and see what she’s capable of myself in the last two weeks, or like she almost killed me. I’ve got to be protected from the truth.” She nodded with exaggerated emphasis. “It’s so much better if I drive myself out of my mind wondering instead.”

 

By the time Dawn got halfway through her complaints, Spike and Tara were focused on each other again, but this time with expressions of concern as their eyes met. Dawn felt a flash of irritation as she realized that they had totally missed the last part of her venting session.

 

“Maybe we’d better get down there,” Tara suggested. “See what they’ve found out.”

 

Spike nodded hurriedly, drawing in a deep, shaky breath and letting it out slowly as he rose from the bed. Tara waited for him to come around the bed and put her arm around his waist as they headed for the door. At the door, Tara turned back toward Dawn for a moment with a reassuring smile.

 

“It’s gonna be fine, Dawnie. Give us a few minutes to find out what’s going on, and we’ll be right back up.”

 

Dawn nodded, giving Tara a much more convincing version of the too-bright smile she had given Giles, waiting until they had closed the door behind them to let it fall from her face.

 

“Yeah,” she muttered. “I’ll just be right here…waiting…while the grown-ups talk about all this incredibly-vital-to-my-life stuff downstairs.” She rose from the bed and headed toward the door, scoffing softly, “Right. Like _that_ would ever happen.”

 

Silently, careful not to allow herself to be seen or heard by the adults in the lobby, Dawn slipped out the door and headed cautiously down the stairs.


End file.
